A cry in the darkness
by Rose de Sharon
Summary: Five years post-AWE: Will is kidnapped by a pirate captain who wants the Dead Man's Chest. Captain Jack Sparrow to the rescue!
1. A call of distress

**A cry in the darkness**

by Rose de Sharon

**Disclaimer:** sadly, the recognizable characters don't belong to me, but to Mickey Mouse. I do own Orlando Bloom, however… in my dreams! ;-)

**Author's notes:**

- English isn't my native language and I don't have a beta-reader, so all mistakes are mine.

- This story takes place five years post-AWE.

- Angst, adventure and smarm ahead! Don't like, don't read!

**Feedback:** flames will be ignored by order of Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?

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**Chapter 1: ****A call of distress**

"_It has been a long night"_, thought "Bootstrap" Bill Turner, First Mate of the _Flying Dutchman_ and father to its Captain. The tall, strongly-built man glanced at his surrounding and saw nothing but bone-weary sailors, getting ready to get a well-deserved rest in their hammocks. The ship, currently heading for the north, was completely different from all the other ones sailing on the endless ocean: originally a cargo vessel, the _Dutchman_ became a ghost ship years ago by the demand of Calypso, a heathen goddess. She had entrusted her lover, Captain Davy Jones, with the task of ferrying the souls of those who had died at sea to the afterlife, with the promise that after ten dutiful years, she would relieve Jones from his mission and remain with him forever. Unfortunately, the unreliable Calypso didn't keep her word and missed their decade-scheduled appointment. Heartbroken, enraged, Jones had forfeited his duty to turn into a monster, terrorizing the seas and press-ganging dying sailors into his crew.

Five years ago, Calypso had found an exceptional young man with a touch of destiny within him: William Turner the Second, son of ex-pirate Bill Turner and slave to Davy Jones. Through her scheming, the ocean had gotten rid of Davy Jones and his abominable cruelty, but Will had been forced to become the new Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ for ten years, thus coercing him to leave Elizabeth, his wife and true love, behind him.

For five years now, Bill had acted as Will's devoted father, First Mate and confidant. His steadfast presence had been a blessing for his son, since soul-ferrying was a hard task. As the new Master of the Seas, Will had been "gifted" by Calypso with a keen hearing that allowed him to locate the souls' cries of anguish miles away, and also to "transport" himself from a ship to another, in a blink of an eye. Those abilities were very useful for Will to find dead or dying people floating on the ocean's surface or trapped aboard half-sunken, burned ships. But the job of transporting souls seemed to be endless. How many lives could be brutally ended by wars, tempests, or accidents? How many souls had drifted relentlessly for years, vainly hoping Davy Jones would guide them to the Other Side so they would finally reach peace? The monstrous Jones had only left desperation behind him, and now it was up to the renewed _Flying Dutchman_ to repair the wrongs of its former commander. The younger Turner had often said that without his father's love and companionship, he would have been driven mad by both his duty and his forced separation with Elizabeth, since she couldn't come aboard to the _Flying Dutchman_ (apart from its crew, only ferried souls were allowed aboard) and Will's inability to step on land for ten years (as requested by his new, supernatural status).

Bill Turner blushed slightly remembering his son's words of praise: he still considered himself unworthy of them. Even if Will had forgiven him fully for abandoning his family to go pirating, which had ended in catastrophe with Jones' press-ganging Bill into his crew for a hundred years of service, there was still a part of the older man's heart which remained inconsolable – even if he kept a stolid silence about it. Will had enough sad tasks to accomplish to be burdened even more by his father's regrets; besides, Bill had vowed to help and protect his son until the day he'd die, and he considered it a part of his promise to stifle his grief deep within his heart.

Bill raised his eyes and saw the _Dutchman'_s Captain standing at the helm, observing the horizon which was getting slowly illuminated by the first rays of the sun. The Captain, _his_ Captain, his beloved son…. his child! The elder Turner felt a smile spreading on his lips, like every time he looked at his cherished William. He remembered Will as a baby, comfortably nestled in his mother's arms; as a toddler, walking hand-in-hand with his Papa; as a young boy, learning how to swim in the ocean's waters under the supervision of his father, while Mary was watching them from the beach… but those images faded under the vision of Will as a grown-up man, sentenced by Davy Jones to receive a lashing after the youngster had been tricked to climb aboard the _Flying Dutchman_.

Bill violently shook his head: reminiscing the past won't help his son in any way! Inwardly scolding himself, the former pirate climbed resolutely the helm's stairs, ready to receive his commanding officer's instructions.

"Orders, Sir?" asked Bill.

William turned around to smile at his First Mate, making Bill's heart flutter within his chest. Even after five years, he couldn't grow weary of this beautiful sight: his son showing his affection to him!

"The men are weary, Mr. Turner," answered Will out loud. "We have ferried more than a hundred and twenty souls this night, they must rest."

"_So __do you, son" _thought Bill Turner. During the night, the _Flying Dutchman_ had crossed the path of floating souls who had been Spanish and French sailors. Their respective countries were at war about land possessions in the Americas and the meetings of their vessels - the _Santa Cruz_ slave ship and the _Marie-Galante_ corsair frigate - had ended in a bloodbath. And, as usual, it had been a tedious work to transport the distressed ghosts to a better world.

Bill could see their latest mission had taken its toll on Will: the young man's face was pale of fatigue and sorrow, as if he could still hear the cries, the supplications of the dead sailors who had pleaded for a chance to live again. But his son wasn't Davy Jones: unlike his predecessor, Will refused to enslave dying men to serve under the mast with a false promise to cheat the higher powers. He consoled and ferried the souls with such compassion and tenderness, they wouldn't leave the _Dutchman_ afterwards without tearful marks of gratitude to the young Turner.

Will was separated from his physical heart – a consequence of his acquired captaincy – but, paradoxically, he wasn't _heartless_ since he was able to show altruism towards the souls, fairness to his crew and, above all, to feel an immense love for his family. His son was a walking miracle and, over the years, the _Dutchman_'s sailors had earned absolution for their past deeds, since they were copying closely their actions on their Captain's. Bill glowed in pride when the men showed their utmost respect to Will… and it happened about a hundred times per day!

"Aye, Captain," answered Bill. "Are you going to get some sleep, too?"

Will sighed, and then he turned back to stare at the eastern horizon. The dawn's pure light enhanced his features and, for an instant, Will looked like a messenger from the Heavens. That impression was reinforced by his long dark hair floating gently in the morning breeze, escaping from the deep green bandana tied around his head, and the puffy white shirt he was wearing. Even the long scar on his chest got illuminated by the morning sun, looking more like a thin ribbon of ruby gemstones than a painful reminder that his heart had been carved out.

"_He looks like me when I was his age,__" _thought the elder Turner, "_but in a handsomer version. That's because you have a diamond soul that magnifies your beauty, my wonderful darling; you shine, and you bring hope to everyone who has the chance to cross your path. My William, you look and act like an angel… And you're my secret angel."_

But his son was also human, and right now Bill could see the twin dark shadows circling under Will's chocolate-colored eyes.

"I don't know, Mr. Turner," answered Will with the protocol tone they both used on deck, when the Turners assumed their roles of Captain and First Mate in front of the crew. "There are probably more souls needing our help out there. There is a war currently raging between European countries who want to gain the upper hand on American lands, and the cost of lives is high…"

"Son?" interrupted Bill with a more discreet voice, while placing his hand on the small of Will's back. "You need to rest, too."

Will sighed again; he hadn't slept for two days because of his work so deep down, he knew his father was right. But the despair of the deceased was also hard to ignore. Once more, once too much, political rivalries had been paramount to the people's well-being, and innocents paid the price of blood and tears for their sovereigns' ambitions. Will's chivalrous nature wanted to order his men to get ready for another round of soul-seeking since he was revolted at the idea to abandon anyone to the ocean's immensity, but his body felt older than his years… much older.

"Please, Will?" asked his father, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard by Greenbeard, the _Dutchman_'s navigator who was at the wheel. "It won't do any good to the crew or to the souls if you wear yourself to the ground. I'll stay on deck and supervise while you sleep. Get a few hours of rest, son, and you'll see! Your help will increase tenfold."

Will remained silent for a few minutes, and then he turned to look at Bill's concerned face to ask in a whisper:

"What about you, Papa? You're probably tired, maybe even more than I am."

"Don't worry about me, son. My old carcass is still strong, and I don't have the burden you bear! I'll go below deck as soon as you're finished, I promise. But right now, the _Flying_ _Dutchman_'s safety depends on a well-rested Captain… which you're not."

Will had a small smile: "Father knows best, eh?"

"Aye," answered Bill with a wink at his son.

"Very well!" said Will out loud, "I am retiring to the Great Cabin for a moment, Mr. Turner". But he barely had the time to walk two steps towards the stairs that he suddenly stopped.

"Captain?" asked the elder Turner, unnerved by his son's sudden stillness.

The young Captain didn't answer; instead, he headed for the helm's rail on the port's side of the ship to look deep into the western sky, still untouched by sunlight. This portion of the heavenly dome was still jet-black in color, giving an eerie impression of infinite darkness to those who were watching it. And Will's gaze was fixed on a point at this somber horizon, acting as if he had heard something that only he had been able to hear.

"_Which is probably the case, by the way,"_ thought Bill Turner. He approached his son cautiously.

"Will?" asked the First Mate in a quiet tone.

"I've just heard a soul's distressed cry, Papa" said his son. "It's a young boy, by the sound of it, and he is close to death."

"Where?" asked Bill.

Will pointed straight at the west, but for his father it was useless to try to spot anything in this darkness. Besides, since Will had become the commander of the _Flying Dutchman_, he had earned the ability to "hear" the sobs coming from the core of every dying human being, and unfortunately he could never make mistakes. This gift was more used than compasses, a sextant or world charts to navigate the ghost ship on the Seven Seas.

"Mister Greenbeard?" called Will out loud.

"Yes, Captain?" was the immediate answer.

"Change of direction! Head for the west!"

"Aye, Captain!" said Greenbeard before turning the _Dutchma_n's wheel on the port side. The ship docilely glided on the waves, its square-rigged sails giving a swift response under the winds; its boom, attached to the mizzen-mast, moved slowly until the pilot had reached the correct direction ordered by his Captain.

"Son?" asked Bill Turner, a bit worried.

Will's face was drawn, but his voice was resolute when he answered his father in a clear voice, "Another soul to ferry to the Other Side, Mr. Turner! We will head west until we find it. Get the men ready!" just before adding for only his father to hear: "I can't ignore the cries of a child's soul, Papa."

Bill was somehow annoyed that his William would forfeit his much-deserved, much-needed rest to collect another soul, but his son's **decisions** were his **law**, both out of love and respect of his commanding officer. Besides, he knew better than to try to keep Will away from his duties. In fact, it'd be as pointless as to ask the moon to fall from the sky!

"_Another soul to ferry, and afterwards you'll get your rest, son of mine!"_

Bill Turner saluted his Captain, before turning back to shout orders at the crew.

TBC…


	2. The shadow of a doubt

**Disclaimer:** same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- My computer broke down (AUGH!) so in the meantime I'm typing wherever I can… it may mean a future lack of updates!

- This chapter contains references to one of my stories, _"The long ordeal of Bootstrap Bill"._

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**Chapter ****2: The shadow of a doubt**

One hour later, the _Flying Dutchman_ saw the contours of a brig against the sky. It was bearing two square-rigged masts and this kind of ship was fast and maneuverable, used in naval wars as well as merchant transportation. From Bill Turner's sailing experience, he could estimate from afar its hull to be about 160 feet long, with a tonnage of 420. He also knew this kind of vessel could be defended by 10 to 18 guns and, with the advantage of its speed, it could bring terrible damages to enemy ships. Brigs could be favored by pirates, although its use was rare among American and Caribbean waters because of its two drawbacks: those ships needed relatively large crew for maneuvers and they were difficult to sail into the wind.

But this brig spotted by the _Dutchman_'s stem didn't look like a pirate ship: on the contrary, a woeful feeling emanated from it. Its sails were dropping from the mainmast and foremast, the upper deck was untidy and the sailors were standing close to each other, looking at the ghost ship with a mix of fear and hope written on their faces.

Bill frowned: his gut was telling him something was astray. Usually, living seamen would flee in terror at the mere sight of the _Flying Dutchman_, too afraid about their souls being picked up and ferried before their time – even if Will's sense of honor had greatly improved the ship's reputation. Over the past five years, shipwrecks' survivors had weaved tales about the apparition of the angelic-looking young Captain, how he had kindly welcomed aboard the souls of their deceased comrades before disappearing into the night. But old habits were hard to break; many sailors couldn't believe in Davy Jones' demise and were sure the tentacle-bearded Monster of the Seas was still around, that Will's presence and actions were just a ruse to lull them into complacency, just before finding themselves enslaved on the _Dutchman_.

This brig, however, didn't seem ready to move and the frightened crewmembers stayed rotted on the spot, their eyes fixed on the ghost ship. What would make sailors sit and wait until the _Flying Dutchman_ would appear, if they weren't in mortal danger?

"Orders, Sir?" asked Bill Turner out loud.

"Bring the ship to until we reach their level, Mister Turner" answered Will who was looking through his spyglass at the brig's nameplate engraved at its prow: its label read _"The Benevolent"_. Strangely, the ship's figurehead was a bust of an armed Spanish conquistador warrior.

After shouting instructions at the crew, Bill resumed to his usual position, which was standing one step behind his Captain so the two men could talk in a more discreet and casual way.

"What do you think of this, son?" said Bill with a quiet tone of voice.

"I don't know, Papa," whispered Will while collapsing the spyglass. The soul's cry comes from this ship, that is certain, and yet I cannot see any traces of combat or mutiny and it doesn't seem it has weathered a storm recently, either."

The elder Turner was still upset about his beloved William being deprived of rest after working for two days and nights straight, and the presence of this mysterious ship carrying a distressed soul while afloat didn't improve his mood at all. He briefly thought this was nothing but a wild goose chase, before dismissing the idea: Will had the infallible power to hear calls of the dead or dying, unfortunately.

"Maybe the boy got injured in an accident, Papa," said Will.

"Aye, it's a plausible explanation," muttered Bill, remembering his numerous shipmates who had died at sea during his merchant sailing years. Black Pete, who had fell to his death from the mainmast of _The Northampton_. That drunkard, Seamus O'Hara, swept away by a wave during a tempest. Jacob and Burnaby Thompson, brothers who had met their demise when the cannon they were loading had exploded. Johansson, Stevens and Doyle, victims of scorbutus. And of course, there had been many fellow sailors who had died from battle wounds during Bill's piracy, but the elder Turner had never considered them as his friends, less his shipmates.

But there had been Willie, too… The bright-eyed cabin boy murdered by Captain Burton of _The Valiant_, in spite of Bill's desperate efforts to protect the lad. The souvenir of that tragedy clouded the ex-pirate eyes and he suddenly got ashamed of himself. _The Benevolent_ could be carrying another Willie, and Bill was reluctant to investigate a soul's call for help!

The _Flying Dutchman_ had gotten sufficiently close to come alongside the _Benevolent_. It was a strange sight to behold, a magnificent ghost ship and a gloomy vessel belonging to the World of the Living!

"Ship ahoy!" called Will aloud. "Do you have need for help?"

"Captain Turner!" yelled a voice aboard the _Benevolent_. "Is that you, Captain Turner?"

Will got startled by this call: apart from his crewmembers and the pirates who had witnessed the defeat of Lord Beckett, no one would call him by this title – and the souls would very unlikely give the name of their ferryman to survivors! Bill's body unconsciously stiffened and his uneasiness increased.

The owner of the voice was a tall, lanky man with disheveled blond hair and unkempt beard. His clothes were in disarray and he looked like the sky had collapsed on his head, but he still had an air of authority. Will noticed that a smaller man was standing just behind the blond but he remained in the shadows, thus making it hard to see his features.

"It is I," answered Will. "How can we be of service?"

"Captain Turner! I am Captain Peterson of the _Benevolent_. You are a godsend! We have an injured man onboard and he's… he's close to d-death – it's my little boy, Captain, my son!"

A stunned silence fell aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. Of all the terrible tasks they had to do, ferrying children's souls was the worst. Seeing their young faces, their innocent eyes filled with terror, hearing their voices desperately calling for their parents was simply heartbreaking and more than once, the crewmembers of the ghost ship had busted in tears at the sight of a child's body floating on the surface of the ocean. But whenever a young soul was brought aboard the _Dutchman_, it would spontaneously jump into Will's arms, crying and begging for help. The young Captain would cradle the children and whisper soft reassurances in their ears, assuring them everything would be all right, that they would see their loved ones soon and the youngsters would cling to Will's neck until the ship had reached the Other Side's shores. Even in death, the children instinctively knew Will would take them under his protection; they trusted him unconditionally to save them from abandonment and despair.

Bill looked at his son and he could see the determined dark-brown eyes shining in their sockets when Will asked: "Your child, Sir?"

"Aye, Captain Turner, a lad of eleven years of age. He had been hit on the head by a falling pulley and our surgeon cannot do anything to help him. Please, Captain Turner! He's dying. For God's sake, I beg you – I-I conjure you to come aboard my ship and reap his soul. My sorrow would be lifted a little with the knowledge that his innocent soul is safe with you, that you will transport him safely to Heaven!"

Bill was in a tumult of feeling. He could pretty well relate Captain Peterson's paternal feelings with his own, so why his gut kept on telling him that something wasn't right? Had Bill gotten so selfish about his son's company that he'd refused to see Will going aboard another ship and console a commander who was about to loose his child?

"Captain, please!" pleaded Peterson. "For the love of God, I beg ye! I…"

"Fear not, Captain Peterson!" said Will. "I will come aboard immediately."

"Thank you, Captain Turner! Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Peterson.

The _Flying Dutchman_'s sailors murmured their agreement, once again in awe with their young commander's depthless concern over souls in need. Will turned around and saw his father looking at the _Benevolent_ with a grim expression on his face. Bill Turner was the world's gentlest and caring man, but for what reasons was he looking resentfully at Captain Peterson and his crew?

"Papa?" asked Will.

"Aye, Will?"

"What is wrong?"

Bill had a hard time to find his words. Peterson's pleas had struck him right in the heart, but a presentiment had an iron-like grip on his body and he silently cursed his eyes for not giving him a clue about what was really going on the _Benevolent_. There was nothing remarkable about the ship; it was a brig similar to hundreds of the sort, apart from its explained upcoming tragedy. Sullen-looking sailors were at their posts, the port-holes were closed and the sails were dangling from their yards, flapping softly in the breeze. This ship looked perfectly inoffensive!

"I don't know, son. Please, could we leave?"

That question shocked Will: never, in his born days, would he have imagined his father asking him to shy away from his duties!

"Papa!" said Will, having a very hard time to keep his voice low. "Do you realize what you've just said?"

"I do, son, and I am deeply sorry. But I have a bad feeling about this ship… as well as its Captain!"

"And what about the boy's soul? I've heard its pleas, as clear as a bell in the morning sky. He is aboard the _Benevolent_, and he is dying. Do you honestly think I would ignore a child's cries and run away?"

Will's gaze hardened as he added: "Do you think I would forfeit my duties on a whim, like Davy Jones?"

"NO, Will!" exclaimed Bill. "You are not Jones and you will **never** become like him. I don't know why I feel this way and I hate myself for it, it's just a feeling that I cannot shake. Maybe I'm getting old… Or tiredness is playing tricks on my eyes… Anyway, my attitude is inexcusable. It's above my rank to discuss your orders. I implore your pardon, Captain… I am so sorry, my Little One!"

His father looked so crestfallen that Will's anger melted instantly. He discreetly grabbed Bill's fingers and squeezed them tightly for an instant. The elder Turner raised his eyes and saw he was already forgiven: Will was giving him the "special smile", the one reserved exclusively to him, and it enchanted the youngster's tired face.

"All will be fine, Papa" said Will just before saying out loud: "Mind the ship, Mister Turner!"

"Aye, Captain!" answered Bill, and Will disappeared from the _Flying Dutchman_'s deck in a flash. He had used his uncanny ability to "transport" himself, as fast as the blink of an eye, on any vessel he wanted to visit and when Bill looked at the other ship, he saw his son had indeed "materialized" himself aboard the _Benevolent_, drawing violent gasps of surprise from Captain Peterson and his crew.

Bill ran at the helm's rail and he could clearly see Will's silhouette, enlightened by the white shirt he wore, moving to greet the tall figure of Captain Peterson. Silently, the older man started counting the seconds before his William would be back at the Dutchman's helm.

_Please be careful, my cherished…_

TBC…


	3. Kidnapped!

**Disclaimer:** same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- Happy Easter to all! :-D

- The expression _"Sine qua non" _means_ "indispensable"_ in Latin.

- Angst ahead! Don't like, don't read!

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Chapter **3: Kidnapped!**

Will had "materialized" on the _Benevolent_'s deck with the suddenness of a ghost, and its whole wide-eyed crew jumped back in fright. Even if those men had learned they would be dealing with the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, a notorious ghost ship, they certainly hadn't expected this kind of boarding upon their vessel, made without the help of long boats or ropes.

Nor this kind of visitor, either… Will looked around and saw the men were gaping at him. The young Captain wrongly assumed this reaction was simply due to his dramatic entrance; little did he know that the _Benevolent_'s shipmates had been told the _Dutchman_'s captain would probably be a freak of nature, a nightmarish vision of distorted human features mixed with aquatic flora and fauna, according to the testimonies of the very few seamen who had lived to tell their encounter with Davy Jones. Will's appearance was the complete opposite of the description given by those survivors and, for the _Benevolent_'s most superstitious crewmembers, the young man's handsomeness could only mean a trap!

Peterson seemed equally astonished as the rest of his men: when he had begged for help a few moments earlier, he hadn't been able to discern Will's features. From a distance, Peterson had only saw a tall, lean figure silhouetted against the morning sky and shadowed by the nearby presence of an even taller, burly-shaped man. But now Will was standing in front of him and the _Benevolent_'s commander had to admit the _Dutchman_'s Captain wasn't what he had expected.

"Captain T-Turner?" asked Peterson with an incredulous voice.

"That's me," answered calmly Will.

"Begging your p-p-pardon," stammered the blond-haired captain, looking embarrassed, "but I-I had no idea y-you were… so young!"

Ah, so that was it, then. Will sighed inwardly: yes, he had been barely twenty-two years old when the maelstrom battle had happened. He was well aware that most of his crewmembers had spent more time at sea than he had walked on God's Green Earth, to quote Joshamee Gibbs. But his father had told him time and time again that his age wasn't a hindrance, quite the contrary: the _Dutchman_'s sailors were constantly amazed someone so young could guide them with so much wisdom, and Will believed his First Mate unconditionally. Besides, in his five years of captaincy, William Turner the Second had never heard a word of contestation from his men, giving him the needed confidence he was leading them the right way.

The young man smiled gently at Peterson, and said:

"Still, it is me."

The _Benevolent_'s captain seemed rooted on the spot, imitating his men; Will started to worry, even if his face remained impassible. He hadn't expected a warm welcome from Peterson since his son was dying, or from his sailors who ought to be frightened by his apparition, but the prolonged silence and gaping was getting unnerving. Then, Will noticed the person hiding in Peterson's shadow: it was a Chinaman, small in stature, and bald save for the long strands of black hair tied in a ponytail on the back of his head. He was dressed in a long gray tunic and leggings and he had a black dragon tattooed on the right side of his neck. The oriental was the only one who didn't look at Will with his mouth wide open; in fact he was eying him rather suspiciously, as if he couldn't believe they were actually meeting the genuine captain of the _Flying Dutchman_.

Being the center of attention made Will starting to regret his decision to come aboard the _Benevolent_. Maybe his father had been right, maybe there was something fishy aboard that ship… Or maybe it was just tiredness, plain and simple. He had been working relentlessly for two days and his whole body was shaking in fatigue. Besides, he scolded himself, he had his men on the _Flying Dutchman_, Bill Turner watching over him with eagle eyes, and the ability to go back aboard his ship in seconds. What was he so worried about?

At the same moment, the desperate boy's soul cries resounded again in Will's head, clearer than before. It felt like a tidal wave of pain crashing inside his brains! Will closed his eyes and let out a feeble grunt; that was his usual reaction every time he heard distressed children's ghosts lost at sea. There was definitively a young one nearby, tottering on the brink of death. By the sound of his voice, he was barely entering his teens.

After a few seconds, Will was able to clear his mind from the soul's call and he asked Peterson: "Sir... your son?"

"My son? Oh! Oh yes, the boy. That's right, my s-s-son. Yes, he's… he's dying. He has been injured in the afternoon while working on his chores. Did you… Did you hear him? You are able to hear his soul, really?" asked Peterson, acting like he wanted a confirmation of the abilities the young Turner had gained when he had become a ferryman for ghosts.

"Yes, Sir, I am sorry. He seems in great pain. Is your surgeon sure he cannot do anything for him?"

"NO! No, he cannot d-do anything for my boy. Will you-you come with me downstairs, to the lower gun deck and assist him in his last moments, Captain Turner? I'll be eternally grateful to you!"

Once again, Will was troubled: why Peterson hadn't had his son transported to the Great Cabin, instead of keeping him in the dark and less-than-clean gun decks? Maybe the boy had been injured inside the ship's hull and the men hadn't moved him out of fear to worsen his wounds.

"Please lead the way, Captain Peterson" answered Will.

From the corner of his eye, Will could see the _Benevolent_'s sailors were cowering before him as he walked with their Captain. Only the oriental didn't seem to be panic-stricken; he still had his gaze fixed on Will, like a judge towering an accused from his court chair. Remembering the Chinese manners he had learned during his brief stay in Singapore, when he had attempted to steal Sao Feng's navigational charts with the complicity of Elizabeth and Barbossa, Will turned around and saluted the Chinaman with a brief inclination of his head; the man looked startled, then he respectfully bowed at him in return.

Will had a small smile: maybe this oriental had as many doubts about him as he had concerning his mission aboard the _Benevolent_, but showing politeness had never hurt anybody.

The youngster followed Peterson downstairs, inside the bowels of the ship.

* * *

The way down was difficult: the _Benevolent_'s lower gun deck was poorly lit, and its Captain hadn't thought of grabbing a lantern. Not that Will could blame him, the poor man was probably out of his mind from sorrow about his wounded child, and he kept on bumping and hitting every wall corner or discarded tool lying on the wooden floor. Obviously, Peterson wasn't very uptight on discipline, if he let his men run the ship in such disarray.

Over the years, Bill had told his son many stories about his time merchant sailing, and how many captains he had served under had turned out to be complete drunks who hadn't gave a damn about the state of the vessel, as long as it didn't sink or run aground. That was a flagrant violation of the Marine's Code since tidiness was a _sine qua non_ condition of good sailing: seamen were supposed to act quickly in case of tempests or pirates, and time couldn't be wasted in searching for materials or detangling the sails' ropes. But of course, those captains were rarely blamed since their families had the financial means to buy commandeering commissions from the British Marine Office; and who cared in London about sailors being killed or maimed after serving under sloppy officers? According to the elder Turner, _"Messy captains make unhappy ships"_ and Will had agreed entirely, remembering the terrible state the _Flying Dutchman_ had been during Jones' reign of terror.

William tremendously enjoyed the stories his father told him from his sailing years: not only Bill was more than eager to share his memories with his beloved son, but the young man also used them to fill the gaps of his captain's apprenticeship. That's why Will kept on saying that he wouldn't have managed to keep their ship afloat without his father's experience and knowledge of sailing, even if Bill blushed every time his son praised him.

"Here is it, Captain Turner" said Peterson suddenly. "This is where the boy is."

They had reached the end of the lower gun deck; there were gunpowder barrels tied up to each wall and the unique light around came from a small lantern hanging from the ceiling, casting a yellowish glow behind its dirty glass panels. Will's eyes had accustomed themselves to the shadowy light and he could see that, indeed, a frail-looking young boy was lying on a crude pallet of blankets. His head was covered with bloodied strips of white linen, making his blond bangs sticking up in every direction and there was a white-bearded man sitting at his side, patting the child's hand in a small gesture of comfort. At the sound of Petersons' voice, the old sailor turned around and an expression of fear showed on his seamed face when he saw who the visitors were.

"No, Tony, do not be alarmed!" said the _Benevolent_'s commander. "This man is Captain Turner, from the _Flying Dutchman_. He is here to help my son, there's no need to be afraid."

But Tony didn't seem reassured in the least; in fact, he was looking very nervous while clutching the child's hand tightly, his eyes fixed on the two captains. At the same moment, the blond-haired boy cried out _"No! No!"_, his chalky face getting even paler. Tony grabbed the lad's shoulders in a vain attempt to keep him lying still, but the child's body was convulsing, his flailing members kicking wildly at the old man's restraining grip.

"Oh, God!" said Peterson in an anguished voice. "He's getting worse! Oh, I can't stand to see him suffering; this is more than I can bear!"

"What is your son's name, Sir?" asked Will.

"His name? Oh, it's-it's Andrew, Andy for short. My boy, my poor little boy!" and the lanky man's voice broke down with a sob.

Will's throat tightened in emotion at the sight of Peterson's tears running down on his cheeks and his wild-groomed beard. Knowing that no words would ever be enough to console the sorrowful father, the young Turner simply squeezed his shoulder in sympathy and then, he walked towards the wounded boy. Andy's condition seemed desperate; he already looked like a corpse ready to be committed to the sea. The only thing Will could do was to ease the boy's passing, and then leave the _Benevolent_ with a new little soul entrusted in his care while a grieving man would watch the _Flying Dutchman_ disappear in a flash of green light.

Seeing that Will was getting closer to them, Tony gasped in horror and shielded Andy's body with his own. He looked as terrified as he had seen a demon that had sprung from Hell to snatch the boy away!

"Please, do not be alarmed" said Will to the old sailor, raising his hand in a gesture of peace, "I just want to help Andy…"

**SNAP**

The floor suddenly gave way beneath Will's feet and the young man fell in the depths of the orlop deck; that was the lowest part of a ship, located below the water line. Will barely had the time to realize he had walked on a trap door just before his body crashed into a large, opened crate that had been placed just beneath the hole. A crate which had been half-filled with…

… _**soil**_.

"AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!"

William Turner yelled in agony as soon as his body made contact with the earthen element. It felt like a million of red-hot needles piercing his skin while a terrible weakness overwhelmed him. As Master of the Seas, Will had gained incredible powers but the main drawback of his supernatural status was the absolute impossibility for him to step foot on dry land for a ten-year length of time; that was why he had been forced to leave his Elizabeth behind, since she couldn't follow him aboard the _Flying Dutchman_.

Will didn't know what the results of touching soil would be, but he was aware that it had been Davy Jones' worst nightmare; whenever his vile actions needed to be accomplished on land, he had to delegate his sailors-slaves to do the dirty work for him, much to his fury. Jack had sought the protection of islands by sailing closely to them, in order to escape from the Kraken pursuing him. When Beckett had compelled Jones to assist to a parlay on an island – the outcome being the exchange of Will Turner for Captain Jack Sparrow – the monstrous captain of the ghost ship had been forced to stand on a tub filled with sea water, making Jones look utterly ridiculous in front of his crew and the _Endeavour_'s.

And now, the terrible consequences of touching land before the appointed time fell upon the _Dutchman_'s new Captain: the contact of soil on his skin was intolerable, as if he had been covered with the lava of an erupting volcano. A solar explosion of pain erupted within his body, shattering all his might! His powers, including the one allowing him to "transport" himself in a flash, were instantly annihilated. Suffocating, torn in two by the torturing pain, Will couldn't find the strength within him to call out for his father… for his crew… for anyone to help him; only feeble groans managed to escape from his throat. Fear got mixed with pain when he realized he was trapped in the lower levels of an enemy ship, at the mercy of hostile men who had lured him into a trap.

Instinctively trying to escape from his predicament, Will gathered all his courage to push himself on his hands and knees in an attempt to clamber out of the crate. But he barely had the time to put a shaky hand on the edge of the wooden planks building his imprisoning box before hearing shouts: sailors armed with shovels and clubs charged at him. One man clobbered Will on the head and the young man fell back inside the crate, loosing his grip to safety. Another sailor grabbed a handful of soil and threw it at the captured man's face: it felt like acid and Will moaned in agony.

An avalanche of punches fell down on the young Turner, who could barely lift his hands to protect himself. Realizing their prey was completely defenseless, the _Benevolent_'s crewmembers hit him with a renewed ardor, growling and snarling like a bunch of wild animals, grimacing in horrible joy. Soon Will was beaten black and blue, his face and body covered with bruises; blood was escaping from his open wounds, dripping in heavy drops before the soil absorbed it.

"All right, that's enough!" barked a voice above.

The shipmates stopped their lynching to look up at the orlop deck's ceiling: through the square pattern of the trap hole, they could see Captain Peterson watching them from above. The grieving father he had been impersonating minutes ago had disappeared to make place for a cold-eyed, cold-hearted man with a diabolical plan in mind.

"Bury him inside the crate, and then nail the lid!" ordered Peterson. "And remember, he must be entirely covered with soil so he won't be able to escape anyhow, understood?"

"Aye, Captain!" yelled the men. Buckets full of soil had been stocked hours ago in the orlop deck, so the sailors quickly formed a chain. They poured the buckets' contents inside the crate at a frantic rhythm, ignoring Will's weak cries of pain.

"Mister Long!" yelled Peterson.

"Yes, Master?" answered a silky voice at once. It was the Chinaman, who was calmly watching Will being buried alive while playing with his ponytail.

"Action stations! Get the crew ready for a fight! Tell Stillwell, the gunner, to fire from all pieces at the _Flying Dutchman_. I want that ship reduced to a pile of rumbles, do you hear me?"

"It will be done, Master," said Long before turning to leave with a satisfied smile on his face.

"Tony! Shut that wounded brat up, he's getting on my nerves! At once!"

Peterson glanced at the scene downstairs. His men had worked quickly; Will's body had completely disappeared under the soil abundantly poured over him, only half of his face and a raised hand were still visible. The crate now looked like a coffin full of earth, imprisoning Will with more efficiency than a chain forged by the mythological titans and inflicting him more pain than a Devil-designed iron maiden would do. To think some people actually thought the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ was a powerful being, some kind of angel sent to repair the wrongs Jones had committed for so long… Well, the Master of the Seas didn't look very impressive in his earthen cell; in fact he was downright pitiful with his futile writhing! Peterson looked in contempt at his prisoner: the young fool had waltzed right into his trap, blinded by the pathetic display of a boy dying from a wound inflicted by his Captain's hand. It had been so simple…

Peterson would have whooped out of joy: his plan had worked to the perfection! Now that Turner was neutralized, the _Dutchman_ would be blown to pieces soon and then, nothing or no one would stop Peterson to reach his goal!

Will was loosing consciousness, unable to stand the pain caused by his forced and prolonged contact with the soil. Just before a last bucketful of soil was thrown down on his face, he heard Peterson say with a triumphant voice:

"Welcome aboard the_ Conqueror_, Captain Turner!"

TBC…


	4. Gybe ho!

**Disclaimer:** still the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- I have no sailing experience whatsoever, so details from the gybe maneuver come from Wikipedia, the free on-line encyclopedia.

* * *

**Chapter ****4: Gybe ho!**

The _Flying Dutchman_'s First Mate was getting more and more nervous by the minute. He was close to the point of breaking every bone in his hands by wringing them too violently, and his blue eyes were throwing daggers towards the strange square-rigged brig that had appeared out of nowhere to ask for their help. Both ships were sailing side-by-side, under the morning sun.

Ever since Will had stepped foot on the brig, Bill Turner's bad feeling had increased but he still couldn't figure out why; nothing about the _Benevolent_ was remarkable, and yet his uneasiness had tripled in volume. How he wished he could have come along with Will, to be sure everything would be all right! But of course it hadn't been possible: Bill had lost the ability to "transport" himself from one ship to another since he had regained his pure human form years ago, and it would have taken too much time to ready a longboat and propel it to the _Benevolent_. Besides, Will had asked him to stay aboard the _Dutchman_; Bill would rather face the Prince of Darkness than disrespect a demand from his Captain, who also happened to be the most precious person of his life. And who would have watched over the _Dutchman_ if both the Turners left its board?

The Ship's Book of Rules was adamant about this point: if circumstances forced the Captain to leave his post, the First Mate was entitled to command the vessel until the return of the said senior officer. Will relied on him to keep the _Flying Dutchman_ safe, the crew looked upon him for orders and directions: Bill **had** to remain behind… but he hated every second of this situation!

He had saw his William calmly talking to Peterson for a moment, and then the two men had gone under deck; Bill had rightly supposed the blond-haired Captain wanted to lead Will towards his dying boy, whose soul's cries had drawn his son's attention. Still, Peterson had a strange attitude: he acted as if he was absolutely sure of his child's demise, unlike any parent would do.

In his long life, the elder Turner had seen many men and women loosing their children to diseases or accidents – and Bill had truly felt sorry for these poor people, since he had never been the indifferent kind – but each time, the parents would desperately cling to the tiniest hope provided by faith or medicine, making them believe for a moment that their loved ones would pull through… until the worst happened. And even then, Bill had seen many times parents refusing to release their hold on the little bodies cradled in their arms; unable to face the unbearable truth, they would lash out at their entourage and yell at the top of their lungs that their children weren't dead, but "simply asleep". And who could blame grieving parents for becoming violent out of denial?

But Peterson seemed to take the imminent death of his son far too calmly… And Will's absence was getting longer.

Suddenly, a movement caught Bill's attention: tearing his eyes from the _Benevolent_'s deck, he looked at its portside hull. Again, it was nothing different from another ship: the massive wooden structure, the attached shrouds, the water line drawing a dirty shadow on the planks, the port-holes, the…

_That was it!!_

Bill's heart slammed against his throat after he realized where his odd feeling came from: the _Benevolent_'s port-holes were open… and human silhouettes were visible around the guns!

By experience, the elder Turner knew brigs could carry 10 to 18 guns; with its notorious speed and maneuverability, it could inflict terrible damages to enemy ships before anyone could even start to organize a defense, making this kind of ship very popular among pirates. The _Flying Dutchman_ was sailing so closely to the _Benevolent_… it could be shot at point-blank range. And then Captain Peterson reappeared on his deck with a nasty smile on his face… _**and Will was nowhere in sight.**_

A horrible feeling of dread fell upon Bill Turner, who yelled at the helmsman: "GREENBEARD! GYBE MANEUVER! AT ONCE!"

"Aye, Mister Turner!" answered Greenbeard, "GYBE HO!"

A gybe was a technique bringing a vessel before the wind in order to change sides, or to allow it to sail a zigzagged course; the alternating angles would make it difficult for enemy's gunners to steady their aims, and in the meantime the _Dutchman_ would quickly gain speed to escape from fire. It was a dangerous operation because the leeward side of the sails would suddenly become windward. The boom could violently sweep across the deck, injuring anyone standing in its path; it could also slam to the limit of its range and put excessive stress on the rigging; it could break, and even bring the masts down.

In spite of Greenbeard's loud warning, the brusque movement made the _Dutchman_'s crewmembers lost their balance, drawing screams of pain and surprise. The ship made a huge yaw and, at the same time, the _Benevolent_'s guns opened fire. The cannonballs hit the _Dutchman_'s stern, blowing holes into the Great Cabin and damaging the helm, but missing their original target which was the ghost ship's starboard side.

"Action stations!" thundered Bill Turner. "We're under attack! All hands on deck!"

The _Dutchman_'s crew tried to pick themselves up, but some of the sailors had been injured during the gybe maneuver and were unable to help. Cries, wild questions, exclamations burst everywhere, adding to the confusion. Jimmy Legs, the bo'sun, tried to maintain discipline but the _Dutchman_'s wild sailing was making his task difficult. Besides, there was the matter of the dangerous movements of the boom, threatening to knock people out of its way; that was scaring the men and preventing them to perform their duties.

Bill's quick thinking had protected the _Flying Dutchman_ by preventing its starboard side to be gutted open by the _Benevolent_'s projectiles, but they weren't saved yet. It would take the enemy five minutes to clean their portside guns, damp down sparks, ram powder, ball and wadding down the barrels before firing again; that would give enough time for Bill to continue the gybe maneuver until his ship would turn around and get ready to attack. But Peterson and his crew didn't seem too worried: the _Benevolent_ gained quickly on the _Dutchman_, riding hard just behind the stern. Greenbeard at the wheel was trying hard to control the zigzagging course but each change of wind could make the vessel heel over. Crates and barrels were rolling all over the _Dutchman_'s deck, threatening to injure the seamen in their wake.

Bill Turner's mind was reeling with questions: why would the _Benevolent _attack them? What Peterson wanted with them? Was it vengeance about Davy Jones' past evil deeds? Was it an act of piracy? But they weren't carrying any kind of gold or precious items in their hold! _And for the love of God, where was Will?_

"Mister Legs! Get ready to fire!" yelled Bill.

"We haven't fired our guns in five years, Mister Turner!" replied the bo'sun.

"I don't care!" snapped the First Mate. "Get the guns ready!"

"You don't understand, Sir! We used all of our gunpowder in the maelstrom battle and we haven't restocked any since. I've mentioned it once to young Captain Turner and he just told me we wouldn't need to use the cannons anymore!"

Bill blanched at Jimmy Legs' words: that was much true! The _Dutchman_ was a peaceful soul-ferrying vessel once more, thanks to Will's influence, and this kind of mission didn't need defensive weapons. Keeping forty-six broadside six-pound guns ready would have looked completely out of place aboard a ship transporting souls!

The elder Turner thought he was going mad: when he had saw the _Benevolent_ getting ready to open fire on them, his first reaction had been to protect the ship, thinking his son would join them immediately. But Will was nowhere to be seen, and they were under attack. _**What in the world was happening?**_

"Hard to port! Steal his wind! Deploy the canvas in full!" shouted Bill, a plan unfolding in his mind: they would gain enough speed to distance themselves from the enemy ship, and then go back and ram into the _Benevolent_; the men would board it, using ropes and grapnels, and in the melee Bill would kill anyone standing on his way and he would find his son!

The gybe maneuver ended and the crewmembers slowly regained their equilibrium. The _Dutchman_ had the wind aft and Bill glanced at the direction of the stern: the _Benevolent_ had fallen behind. Hope had barely the time to return to the First Mate's heart before a sudden gust of wind imbalanced the ship: weakened by the recent dangerous maneuver, the mizzenmast' riggings broke with a loud snap, increasing the boom's instability. For a horrible second, Bill thought their ship was going to capsize.

The _Benevolent_ noticed the pursued ship's dismay and turned slowly on its starboard side… where its guns were ready. A loud explosion thundered and a hail of cannonballs cut through the ghost ship, destroying its helm, ratlines and the rigging. The shipmates cowered for protection from the falling sails and yard-arms, and crashing debris staved in the deck. Bill looked at the helm and saw that Greenbeard's body was lying on the quarterdeck: he had been hit by the volley and the _Dutchman_ was completely out of control.

Bill jumped on the quarterdeck and grabbed the wheel. The sight of Greenbeard's mangled corpse was horrible but it wasn't the time to mourn the death of his comrade.

"Mister Legs! Secure those sails!" yelled the First Mate.

But as soon as he gave this order, the enemy fired again and this time, it hit the _Dutchman_'s hull, tearing open a hole: a terrible tremor shook the ship from top to bottom. The violence of the impact made Bill lost his grip on the wheel and he fell backwards on the wooden planks. He had the time to think: _"Oh God, we're sinking… Will!"_ just before a yard-arm fell down on him.

The world went black.

* * *

The guns' clouds of smoke slowly dispelled themselves in the air and the blond-haired commander of the fake _Benevolent_ snorted derisively at the sight of the _Flying Dutchman_. Just like its Captain, it didn't look impressive anymore! Its sails were torn into shreds, the rigging was in ruins and the ship was slowly but steadily sinking. The deck was littered with bodies and the crew hadn't even had the time to fire their guns. Jones' former ship was supposed to have supernatural powers like going underwater, sailing directly against the wind without loosing speed, outrun any vessel and able to sail through a hurricane without damages. Talk about an overrated reputation! Two volleys from the _Conqueror_ had been enough to vanquish it!

"Mister Long!" barked the Captain.

"Yes, Master?" answered the bald Chinaman.

"Our work here is done. Tell the helmsman we're heading west!"

Long's black eyes widened in surprise at those words.

"Pardon me, Master, but it is wise? Maybe we should wait until the _Flying Dutchman_ is totally submerged; just to make sure that it is defeated…"

"My name is not Red Hand Pete for nothing, Mister Long! I have destroyed more ships in my pirate career than you have eaten bowls of rice, and I'm telling you the _Dutchman_ is a goner. I won't waste another minute of my time watching it disappear beneath the surface, or risk the safety of my ship by getting caught in the whirlpool of that sinking bucket. We have better things to do, and one of them is to make Captain Turner talk. That is your task, Mister Long, so get your equipment ready: you will interrogate him within the hour!"

But the Asian didn't seem convinced by Red Hand Pete's affirmations. In fact, he was still darting nervous glances at the _Flying Dutchman_, as if he expected the ghost ship to recover from the battle and attack them any minute.

"Master, I still think that we should…"

"Are you questioning my authority, Long?" barked the Captain, towering the Chinaman with a dangerous gleam in his aquamarine-colored eyes.

"No, Master!" exclaimed Long. "I would never-!"

"Then do as you are told; I won't repeat it!" said Red Hand Pete in a peremptory tone, and some of his sailors snickered loudly.

Shiao Long clamped his mouth shut, bowed deeply and then he turned heels to head downstairs, to his cabin where the necessary "questioning items" were stocked. He was glad he had been able to hide his resentment behind the impassibility of his face, but deep down he was furious by Red Hand Pete's open disrespect towards him, especially in public.

Unlike the _Conqueror_'s crewmembers, Long wasn't a mindless imbecile saturated with rum and unable to do anything else but obey orders. He had ruthless ambition and since his ungrateful family had denied him his rightful claims for a high position in their organization, he hadn't hesitated to ally himself with dangerous men to reach his goals. For that, he had to play the role of a discreet and efficient servant to Red Hand Pete but even if he called the pirate captain _"Master"_, it wasn't a mark of deference but simply a way to allay suspicion.

"_Red Hand Pete__ isn't your master", _reasoned Long inwardly_. "He's just a mean to an end. After you have reached your goal, you will make him pay dearly for his sarcasms and his insults. He's pitiful, come to think of it: he is actually convinced that I am working for him. That's the other way around!"_

But the captain's hostile attitude had offended Long nonetheless, and he needed an outlet for his anger. Then, he remembered the young commander of the _Flying Dutchman_, currently incapacitated and suffering greatly inside a soil-filled crate, which was secured within the _Conqueror_'s hold. Ah, yes, Captain Turner… The living proof that immortality didn't mean invulnerability…

A cruel smile spread on Long's lips: he had worked as a torturer in China, years ago, and it had been one of his most enjoyable jobs. Nothing brought him more pleasure and satisfaction than playing an active part in the slow destruction of a man!

TBC…


	5. A tempest in a skull

**Disclaimer:** still the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- To Smithy: yes, things are turning bad for Will… Just remember, he'll have more than one guardian angel!

- To The-White-Witch and Jessie: thank you very much! ;-)

- This chapter's title comes from the book _"Les miserables",_ by Victor Hugo.

* * *

**Chapter 5: ****A tempest in a skull**

Pain. Darkness.

Bill Turner's head was throbbing mercilessly and he felt queasy all over: his heart was beating forcefully against his ribs like a battering ram pounding against a castle's great gate; his breathing was rapid and shallow, his skin was clammy, he couldn't feel his fingers anymore and a whirlpool of acid was churning inside his stomach. He had gained some experience with injuries in his life and it didn't take him long to understand that he had been wounded. Bill panicked and tried to move, but his attempts only resulted in making his head spin and he fell back into unconsciousness, somehow grateful for this escape from the pain.

A century later, another sound disturbed the peaceful darkness: it was the feeble echo of a cry... Bill turned his head, trying to escape from the annoying noise, but he regretted his movement: white stars flashed beneath his closed eyelids and the cries increased in volume. Botheration! As if having an enormous headache wasn't enough, he also had to endure those irritating groans. Who was whimpering like this? It sounded like a man's voice. Has something happened? Did someone get wounded?

The elder Turner suddenly realized that it was **he** who was moaning so he gritted his teeth, wishing the pain inside his skull would reduce just a little bit so he could think again. He had to clear his mind, it was important. He had to think. But why did he have to think?

A long moment passed and Bill felt his body slowly coming back to life. He couldn't see anything because he didn't have the strength to open his eyes; his limbs felt like lead and his lungs worked gingerly. But he could also feel that he was lying on his back and there was the stale smell of gunpowder in the air. There were people nearby; he could hear the stomping of their naked feet and with an effort of concentration, Bill could also make out scraps of conversation around him:

"…_. Ah think he's coming around…"_

"… _Ye sure?... Took a nasty crack__ on the 'ead…."_

"…_.'ister Turner?"_

Bill's skull was hurting as if someone had tried to saw it in two halves. Had someone tried to kill him? Had he been in an accident? Did a fire occurred, or maybe a fight? How he wished he'd knew! There was nothing more frightful than being trapped in the dark with unanswered questions. A cloth soaked with cold water was laid across his forehead: that was soothing and nice, and he let out a soft sigh of contentment. His painful head begged for more rest and Bill was sorely tempted to drift back to sleep.

"_Gosh, Joe, whatawe gonna do?"_

"_Cannot do nutthink 'till he wakes up, mate!"_

"_But what 'bout the ship!"_

"_Mister Turner? Can you hear me?"_

Mister Turner? Who was… Oh yes, that was him. William Turner the elder, First Mate of the _Flying Dutchman_, former slave of Davy Jones, ex-pirate, ex-merchant sailor, husband of Mary Johnson, father of…

… **Will****.**

Bill's blue eyes opened and the midday sunlight blinded him. With a gasp, he jerked upright and this abrupt movement increased the shooting pains inside his skull, but that was nothing compared to the iron-like grip crushing his heart.

_**Will! Whe**__**re was Will?**_

Vertigo and nausea threatened to overwhelm the older man; he fell back on the deck but someone caught him and held his upper body in a half-sitting position. It took all his might to abate the beatings of his heart, otherwise Bill knew he would faint again and he had to fight this malaise. A thought turned inside his mind like a Dervish dancer circling on the floor: _Don't pass out, don't pass out, don't pass out…_

"Mister Turner?" asked a voice, more clearly this time.

The wet cloth was taken from his forehead and someone used it to wipe Bill's face with, washing away blood and sweat from his skin. The contact of the cool water helped him to open his eyes again. It took him a few minutes to get accustomed to the light but after the elder Turner's blurred vision finally cleared up, he could see three persons hovering above him: Jimmy Legs, Tim Baker and Joel McCarthy, all three with anguished expressions on their faces.

"Ah, Mister Turner!" said McCarthy the carpenter. "Are you feeling better?"

Bill could only grunt in answer, he was too groggy to trust his voice. The carpenter took the dripping rag and pressed it slightly against the bleeding gash on the First Mate's head: the cloth was reddened instantly but even though it hurt, it was also bringing a little amount of relief to the older man's injured temporal bone.

After a few minutes, Bill managed to croak: "W-where is Will?"

McCarthy swallowed loudly, and said in an anguished tone:

"Captain Turner never returned, Sir."

If Bill's heart could have exploded, there would have been blood splattered all over the deck.

The three sailors exchanged a worried glance at the sight of their First Mate's ashen face getting even paler. But the urgency of their own plight made them act fast; they couldn't afford to have their remaining commanding officer to loose consciousness again! Baker suggested some rum, but Legs dismissed the idea since alcohol would only make the elder Turner throw up. McCarthy soaked the rag once more and splashed the cold water carelessly on the big man's brow. The shock of the liquid helped Bill to clear his thoughts; after a while, he regained enough strength to ask:

"What happened?"

"The _Benevolent_ attacked us, Mister Turner!" shrieked Baker.

"That's right, Sir!" said the bo'sun. "That no-good Peterson, he gunned us without any reason and with no warning whatsoever! Bunch of traitors! You ordered a gybe maneuver and a damn good thing too, otherwise we would have taken the full blast o' their fire directly on the hull an' we wouldn't have been able to save the ship. But with our crazy course, the _Dutchman_ was able to distance isself from the Benevolent and to ruin their aim. They managed to make some damage, though, especially in the rigging and they tore a hole in the hull. You got hurt by a falling yard-arm, Sir."

Jimmy Legs' account helped Bill to understand while memories flooded back into his mind: Will, the _Benevolent_, Peterson, Will, the attack, the flight, the second volley, Will missing…

"The hull… breached?" asked Bill.

"Aye, and the _Benevolent_ left us to sink; luckily for us, they didn't finish the job and sailed west. We managed to stop the leak! The pumps are working an' there's good hope to evacuate all the water. But the hull needs repairs soon, Mister Turner, and with that ramshackle rigging the _Dutchman_ can heel over anytime!"

"Five men died in the battle, Sir," said Baker. "Greenbeard, Martin, Ogilvey, Penrod and Roderigo."

A terrible silence followed those words; then, Bill grabbed the wet cloth and pressed it against his skull: it hurt, but he had to stop the bleeding. He tried to get on his feet but his body's lack of coordination almost made him fall back on the deck. The carpenter obligingly gave him a hand to help him stand up.

After the wave of dizziness had passed, a disheartening sight greeted the First Mate: the _Flying Dutchman_ was in shambles. The remaining shipmates had worked for hours to repair the hull's breach and now they were exhausted, looking as if they were going to fall apart on the spot. Debris cluttered the deck, ropes were hanging miserably from the torn yard-arms and riggings, and overall the ship seemed to stay afloat only by a miracle. Some of the men were badly wounded and five bodies were lying under a ripened sail, placed over the corpses like a shroud.

But that wasn't the worst part of it; the wounded and the survivors had a haggard look on their faces, staring in the emptiness while mumbling the same phrase over and over again: "The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain… The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain…"

Bill suddenly understood their situation: not only their ship was damaged, but the seamen were getting mentally disabled by the kidnapping of their Captain. For years, Davy Jones had hammered into his crewmembers' minds that their commander's presence was mandatory aboard the _Flying Dutchma_n; otherwise, they wouldn't survive and the ship would inexorably sink. Along with his supernatural powers, that brainwashing had been another way for Jones to keep his slaves-sailors under control and none of them had ever had the idea to question the monstrous-looking Captain's affirmations.

Jones had been gone for five years, but his influence was still vivid in his former sailors' memory. Over the years, the phrase _"The Dutchman must have a Captain"_ had become a motto for them, on which depended the ship's safety and their own. No matter how much damage the _Dutchman_ would receive from tempests, or how many enemies would climb aboard, the crewmembers would survive as long as their Captain remained among them. And now, Will was missing… leaving his sailors in such a state of despair that they were getting unable to perform their duties. Soon, they would start to loose their minds!

A crippled ship… a disoriented crew… and his son had been captured. All this because of Peterson!

Growling like a rabies-stricken dog, Bill hobbled towards the rail, shaking off any kind of help from McCarthy, Baker and Legs. Rage was burning within his body and if he had enough strength, he would have lashed out at the first thing or person standing on his way. Quickly understanding that their First Mate needed some time alone to think about their situation, Legs motioned to Baker and McCarty to give the man some space, but they kept a close eye on him.

The elder Turner was gripping the rail so hard his knuckles were whitening under the pressure of his stress. He was standing in a middle of an emotional hurricane, making it difficult for him to concentrate. Pain, love and horror were shaking his tall frame and he felt like crying, yelling, banging his aching head against the mainmast, discharging a pistol in the air and murdering someone at the same time.

Will, his Little One, had been kidnapped. Very little time had passed between the moment his son had been led to the _Benevolent_'s lower deck and the traitors had opened fire on the _Flying Dutchman_, meaning Peterson must have somehow figured out a way to neutralize him quickly, before Will would ever have the possibility to "materialize" himself on his ship, back to safety.

And Bill Turner had been powerless to do anything to protect his son. Oh, why hadn't he listened to his bad feeling, the one telling him there was something wicked in Peterson's supplications?

Out of the blue, the nagging voice came back into Bill's mind after years of silence. The same one who had criticized him relentlessly during his merchant sailing career for not earning enough money to provide for his family and making his wife and child live in poverty; but this time, it was sneering to his ears with an accusatory tone: _**Once again, you've done it, Bill Turner. You've let your guard down; and someone used your inattentiveness to snatch away your treasure.**_

A roaring tempest of arguments sprung up in Bill's skull, adding the turmoil of his brains to the pain of his aching head.

"_He's more than a treasure," _protested Bill inwardly_ "He's my angel!"_

_**Well, don**__**'t stand here like a figurehead, **_said the mind's voice._** Get him back!**_

"_But how? How can I possibly get Will back? I don't even know who Peterson is, or what does he want with my son!"_

_**You know enough about him for the moment! He's **__**evil, he's keeping Will prisoner, and he's heading west. Go after him!**_

"_But the Dutchman is shot to pieces! How in the world can I organize a pursuit with a crippled ship?"_

_**Think, Bill, and think **__**well. Now isn't the time to fall apart from your grief. Every minute wasted is a minute too late for Will. Remember your days serving before the mast of the Black Pearl?**_

"_Yes, I do!"_

_**You found yourself in **__**danger, more than once; in fact, you got very close to be captured and to finish your pirating career at the business end of a hangman's rope. Well, Jack has beaten those impossible odds every time, hasn't he? Simply because he always used the same three-ingredient recipe for his schemes: lots of money, a clever plan and a fast ship.**_

"_The ship is out of commission! My men are getting distressed by Will's absence and they are not able to help me. Their minds will be crushed, just like mine had been by Davy Jones' oath, years ago. I even fought my own son during the maelstrom battle because of it. Soon, I will turn into a zombie, just like them!"_

_**Draw**__** the necessary strength on your love for Will, stupid! You have to keep a clear mind in order to make a clever plan!**_

"_I don't know how to make a plan; in fact, all the ones I've ever made in my life turned badly for Will, Mary or for me!"_

_**At least**__**, you do have precious items, don't you? Enough to convince somebody to accompany you in retrieving your son from Peterson and to "rent" the services of a fast ship…**_

"What precious items-?" wondered Bill out loud, and then he realized what this nagging voice had meant.

His eyes widened in shock: yes, he did have gems in his possession! But Bill hadn't disgraced himself by looting the burned flotsams encountered by the _Dutchman_ (the elder Turner's pillaging days were long gone): he had acquired those stones through a lot of pain, grief and guilt; no one but William knew about their existence. In five years, they had cumulated into a sizable amount: it would be enough to decide any hard-weathered men to take part in his search for Will and fire cannonballs into the _Benevolent_ until Peterson and his crewmembers were trapped into Davy Jones' Locker for all eternity.

Bill Turner had financial means, but two ingredients were still missing: a plan and a ship. Jimmy Legs had told him earlier that the enemy ship had headed for west, but hours had passed since the attack and Peterson could be anywhere. So, atop of figuring out strategy and transportation, Bill had to find a way to trace the _Benevolent_ without wasting time.

But how could he? That task was way beyond his abilities and Bill started to feel panicky at the thought that his inaptitude would make his son pay the high price. Which man commanding a ship would have enough brains to make a rescue plan and find the _Benevolent_?

Then, a name came to his mind in red letters: _Jack Sparrow_.

"Mister Turner?" asked a voice behind him. It was Joel McCarthy.

The carpenter was starting to feel edgy by the First Mate's silence; he had been leaning over the rail and staring at the ocean's shining waters for a long time. McCarthy, Legs and Baker had left the man alone to let him gather his thoughts, but now they were getting anxious about their own ordeal and the damaged _Flying Dutchman_.

McCarthy reached out and tapped Bill lightly on the shoulder: "Mister Turner?" he asked again, a bit louder this time.

The older man spun around on his heels, and McCarthy stepped back in surprise.

It wasn't Bill's brusque movement that had startled the carpenter. It was the ice-blue eyes locked on his face.

McCarthy swallowed with difficulty.

William Turner Sr., the amiable _Dutchman_'s First Mate, was gone.

Bootstrap Bill, the pirate, was back.

TBC…


	6. The first cries

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- This chapter contains violence and themes which may be disturbing to sensitive readers.

- The mention of Will entrusting the Dead Man's Chest key to his father is a reference to one of my stories, _"The long ordeal of Bootstrap Bill"_.

- The "Shiao Long" name means _"Little Dragon"_ according to Wikipedia, the free on-line encyclopedia.

* * *

**Chapter ****6: The first cries**

Will was in Hell.

He remembered Peterson's satisfied face and ironically welcoming him aboard _The Conqueror_ while his men were frantically filling the tall and large crate with soil. His feeble cries hadn't moved his tormentors to the slightest: they had ruthlessly entrapped him as if he had been a wild, vicious animal that needed to be neutralized quickly. His last vision had been a bucketful of dirt being poured on his face, asphyxiating him. The last sounds he had heard were the banging of hammers, nailing the lid of the brim-full crate.

He had stayed lucid for a few seconds to understand his perilous situation: he was at the mercy of a man who knew about the chink in his armor, and who would exploit it to no ends until he'd reach his goal. But the injuries he had sustained from the beating, added with the dreaded contact with soil, had been too much him. Overwhelmed by the excruciating pain, Will had fainted.

He didn't know how long he had been unconscious, but he had woken up in Hell: a dark, silent Hell where he was unable to move, to scream, to escape. His body was imprisoned in a gangue of earth: completely immobilized, Will could only suffocate and suffer agonies. His chest felt like it had been filled with red-hot rocks, his tongue had swelled until it filled completely his mouth. His limbs were made of lead and stars flashed before his eyes, as unbearable as a firework exploding inside his head. Will was crushed alive under the weight of an annihilating element and it reminded him his father's story, when Bill had told him about his tortures at the bottom of the ocean, tied up to a canon and condemned to an eternity of torment because of his immortal cursed state.

"_My father!" _thought Will, slowly opening his eyes in the gloom of his tomb._ "Has something happened to him? Where are my men?"_

The mere thought of Bill Turner being endangered was enough to drive Will insane; out of concern for his father, he tried to move but his supernatural powers were gone, replaced by an immense weakness. With each struggle, the soil would inflict him more pain that he could ever have imagined. Even Davy Jones' sword wound hadn't hurt like this. For Will, the crate was nothing but a container fitted with thousands of sharp spikes piercing him simultaneously, with the added weight of a whale placed on the lid.

Once more, the memories of Bill's terrible tale came back to his son's mind and panic seized him: was that Peterson's plan? Would the enemy captain throw him overboard while locked up in the crate, and being lost forever in the ocean's depths? But to what gain? Will was the captain of a soul-ferrying ship, giving comfort and hope to those who had perished at sea: why would anyone seek retribution against him? Was Peterson looking for revenge for a past deed? The younger Turner couldn't remember if he had ever met the man during his "normal" life. Or maybe Peterson was a mercenary, sent by some East India Trading Company representatives to capture him, so he'd be brought to Port Royal to answer about Lord Beckett's death after the maelstrom battle?

And what had happened to the _Flying Dutchman_? Where were Bill and his men? Will refused to believe he had been abandoned at the hands of Peterson – that was an absolute impossibility, knowing his father's love for him – so why hadn't they attacked the _Conqueror_? Haven't they realized yet that their Captain was in danger? Had they been captured, too?

Only darkness and pain answered Will. With his last clear thoughts, he tried to pray but he fell unconscious again, vanquished by Peterson's devilish torture device.

Hours or centuries later, Will vaguely heard a cracking sound. His awareness returned and his sufferings increased tenfold; in spite of all his efforts, tiny cries managed to escape through his gritted teeth. He slowly realized the cracking noises came from nails that were pulled out of wooden planks. Then, the soil was hastily removed, giving him a little relief from his ordeal. For a brief, dazzling moment of hope, Will thought his crew had come to save him. He tried to move, to open his eyes, but to no avail: he was still completely paralyzed. He had stayed in contact with the abhorred element for too long and his recovery would take days.

Hands roughly grabbed his arms and extracted him from that sarcophagus of dirt; Will gasped as oxygen entered in his lungs: he could breathe again! But his illusions of a rescue by his father or his men quickly vanished: the hands brutally threw him out and down the crate, and he landed on a tattered coarse canvas spread on the floor…

… A canvas covered with freshly-shoveled soil.

Will almost passed out from this violent renewed contact, but a kick in the ribs brought him back to his predicament. With an enormous effort, he opened his hurting eyes: his vision was blurry, but he could make out the contours of three sailors hovering above him: they were the same ones who had buried him inside the crate, earlier. A fourth, blond-haired man was standing in the background and Will guessed it was Peterson. The seamen had got him out of the crate to make him lie on a canvas that felt like a bed of nails. What were they planning to do?

The answer came much too early: one after another, the sailors beat Will to within an inch of his life; they yelled encouragements at each other and punched relentlessly, reassuring themselves that their captive was completely defenseless. Blood and sweat ran down Will's face; every bone and muscle of his body ached abominably and he found himself silently calling for his father to help him. After a moment, the commander's voice rose:

"Enough, men. Now, get his clothes!"

Will whispered a strangled _"No!"_ before Peterson's crewmembers grabbed at his garments, like a pack of hyenas mangling a dying prey. His boots were pulled from his feet, and then his white puffy-sleeved shirt was ripped away, followed by his belt and his dark brown breeches. The deep green bandana he had acquired after becoming the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ was yanked off his head, along with a few bloodied strands of his hair, and tossed aside like a useless rag.

Within minutes, the cowards had stripped Will to the skin. They roared in revolting laughter, clapped each other's backs and yelled obscenities about the young man's well-shaped body, lying motionless on the floor. Then, two of the aggressors tore the clothes to tatters while the third one cut out the boots with a sharp knife; they examined each and every scrap of linen and leather under the light of two lanterns hanging from the orlop deck's ceiling.

After a few minutes of inspection, the enemy captain barked impatiently: "All right, where is it?"

A silence followed, and the shipmate who had hacked the boots to pieces found the courage to answer: "Beggin' yur pardon, Captain, but we cannut find it!

"What do you mean, you bloody fool? Turner must have it! The _Dutchman_'s captain keeps it on him, at all times. I have it on good authority!"

"Sorry, Sir, but he don't haf it on 'im. See fer yurself!" said the sailor while gesturing first to the shredded rags that used to be Will's attire, and second to the inert prisoner.

The fake Peterson growled in rage, reluctantly acknowledging that his crewmembers were right: the clothes and boots had been completely destroyed so if an item had been dissimulated inside them, it would have been discovered by now. And Turner was as naked as the day he was born! But the _Conqueror_'s Captain had a nasty temper which could rise quickly: he hated surprises, and his glorious plan couldn't suffer from false and time-wasting information! The sailors exchanged nervous glances, hoping "Peterson" wouldn't lash at them out of sheer frustration since they had experienced their captain's bouts of violence in the past. The blond-haired man glared venomously at Will, just before he spun around and shouted: "Mister Long!"

The little Chinaman startled; how in the world did his Captain knew he was there? Long had silently arrived at the orlop deck just after Turner had been pulled out of the crate; he had stayed in the shadows ever since, quiet as a mouse, clutching an ebony-wooden flat box to his chest. But the commanding officer had somehow sensed his arrival, and the oriental got frightened: maybe he would be blamed for sneaking in! Desperately hoping the quavers in his voice wouldn't be noticed, he answered: "Yes, Master?"

"Do you have your tools?"

"Of course, Master. They are all in here, Master!" said Long while tapping lightly his precious box with his fingers.

"Good for you! Get them ready, you will start working in a moment. Gregorson, Lestrade! Bury Turner back inside the crate, but waist-deep this time. Andrews! You will tie his hands above his head: he must stand upright to be questioned!"

"Aye, Captain!" answered the three sailors in unison, and they went to work immediately.

The Captain of the _Conqueror_ turned his full attention back to his men; little did he know his manservant was watching Will with intense, hateful eyes. Until a moment ago, Long had felt nothing but contempt for a supposedly powerful man that had been captured so easily. He had enjoyed every moment watching the captive being beaten up by his Master's lackeys; but after Will had been ignobly undressed and humiliated, another feeling had awakened in the Chinese's corrupted heart: jealousy.

In spite of his injuries, Will's bare body was beautiful. The light cast by the twin lanterns was illuminating the muscles of his torso, his arms and his long legs. The blood and dirt maculating his face seemed to enhance his handsome features, instead of ruining them. His tall frame was slightly glowing. In his vulnerable state, Will looked like a mythological hero who had been wounded after a combat against monsters, and yet whose life would be saved by the intervention of heathen deities.

For Long's twisted mind, the young man's beauty was nothing but a silent insult to his own physique.

All his life, the Chinaman had hated his stature and his _"Little Dragon"_ name. He wanted to be called "Hei Long" ("_Black Dragon"_) since his childhood and to be feared like this legendary creature. Over the years, he had killed every man and woman who had dared to make a joke about him; he had also burned down their houses after trapping their families inside; he had mutilated and murdered every one whom he had _suspected_ to laugh at him behind his back, including some of his relatives! But his ferocity had stymied him: he had never earned any respect and his ambition had made him an embittered exile, outlawed by his own family; Long had been reduced to serve the despicable "Peterson" to survive, who openly treated him like kitchen refuse.

And now, the prisoner – a man who would provide Long with the means to accomplish his secret goals – had the nerve to be more beautiful than the Chinese would ever hope to be! Driven mad by jealousy and resentment, Long decided that Turner's mockery wouldn't be unpunished. He carefully took out his questioning items…

Will was in Hell. And it was even worse than the first time. The sailors had dug a deep and narrow hole inside the soil-filled crate. Then, Andrews had dragged him to the container and made him stand up in the well-like hole; Gregorson and Lestrade shoveled the earth back until the captive's legs and abdomen were completely covered. Andrews had tied up Will's wrists with a chain, and pulled it to stretch out his upper body just before tying the chain around one of the orlop deck's pillars.

Will had endured his half-buried torture with stoicism. But his arms were already getting strained from their forced upright position; his lungs were painfully functioning but he knew it would be a matter of time before cramps would slowly paralyze the movements of his rib cage and his chest muscles would tense until he'd suffocate. The only support he had was the earth under his feet, which to him felt like standing on broken shards of glass. And his legs… Oh God, his whole lower body hurt. The awful feeling of spikes relentlessly digging into his flesh was back, and he didn't even have the meager protection of his clothes any longer. He moaned feebly, but someone grabbed a handful of his hair: he opened his eyes to see his enemy's malevolent face inches from his own.

"Enjoying your stay so far, Captain Turner?" asked the commander with a snarl.

The crewmembers gave a belly laugh, which quickly ended after their captain told them, in no uncertain terms, that since their presence wasn't needed anymore, they'd better go back to the upper deck at once or the consequences would be extremely severe. Andrews, Gregorson and Lestrade scrambled up the stairs, nearly knocking down Shiao Long in their haste to escape from the fake Peterson's short temper.

"W-who are you?" said Will between his clenched jaws.

"I am Red Hand Pete, Turner. The most feared pirate who had ever deigned to sail in these miserable waters! I have made my name famous across the Seven Seas; even those pitiful, so-called Pirate Brethren can't rival with me and, if I may boast a little, all the crowned heads of Europe would put aside their differences and ally their forces to capture me, if the idea would ever come to their tiny brains. But I don't feel like giving you an account of my adventures, Turner; in fact I want you to tell me a story… a tale about a chest and a key."

Red Hand Pete's hold of Will's hair tightened, and his blue-green eyes flashed dangerously when he asked: "The Dead Man's Chest and its key, Turner. Where are they?"

Will gasped, more from the shock of the question than from the pull on his tangled hair. The Dead Man's Chest… The symbol of Davy Jones' scorned love, the cause of Will and Elizabeth's separation; that was what his kidnapping had been all about? Red Hand Pete wanted the Chest… but why? Who would willingly become the captain of a ghost ship? So far, the Chest had received only two human hearts: Jones', who had done it to spite his unfaithful lover; and Will's, after Bill Turner had carved it out to save his son's life. The Dead Man's Chest had been vigilantly guarded by Elizabeth ever since, while Will relentlessly worked so Jones' wrongs would be righted, all in the hopes that their mutual loyalty would be rewarded by the lifting of the curse.

"W-w-why do you want them?" asked Will feebly.

"Why?" laughed Red Hand Pete. "Because I want immortality, you fool. What do you think?"

"No…" whispered the young Turner. "The _Dutchman_ is a-a soul-ferry ship… We h-help those who had died at sea…"

Red Hand Pete violently slapped Will across the face: "The _Flying Dutchman_ is a wreck lying on the ocean's floor! After you were captured, I ordered my men to open fire: your crew did a gybe maneuver at the last minute, but it didn't prevent your ship from being hit. Last time I saw the _Dutchman_, it was well on its way down to the Locker. Your ship has sunk, and all your men are currently sleeping with the sharks. Don't imagine anyone will come to your rescue!"

Will felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut by a poison-coated blade.

His father… gone? Bill Turner's shining blue eyes… closed forever? The most wonderful man who had ever lived under the sky, the only person in the world Will had called _"Papa"_ with all his love… was dead? No. Oh no. Oh no, God, no! Will couldn't – _wouldn't_ – believe his tormentor's words. His father couldn't be dead, he just couldn't! Bill was a good man and a skilled sailor; he couldn't have been killed by a traitorous being like Red Hand Pete! Bill was a gentle, compassionate man who had devoted himself to his son's happiness and he couldn't have died so suddenly… so absurdly! It was impossible! It was… cruel!

But his reason sighed sadly deep inside his mind: _If Bill was still alive, he would have boarded the Conqueror already._

Pain erupted inside Will's chest, at the exact place where his heart was missing, and this time it wasn't due to his forceful stay in the soil-filled crate. Tears escaped from his chocolate-colored eyes to roll down on his cheeks, drawing tiny rivers on his maculated face. His father… his loving father was dead! His men had been killed. The _Dutchman_, deprived of its Captain, had sunk like any ordinary ship. Bill Turner was dead!

Red Hand Pete smiled in satisfaction at the display of his prisoner's sorrow: "Oh, don't get distressed! You will soon join your men at the bottom of the sea. You're mine, Turner, and you will tell me where the Dead Man's Chest is. I must admit, you've surprised me when my men didn't find the key on you. According to my sources, the Captain must keep it on him at all times. It may buy you a reprieve but in the end, it won't save you, Turner!"

"H-how do you know?" whispered Will.

"How do I know about the Dead Man's Chest? Oh, that is due to Mister Shiao Long who is here with us; he happens to be my servant and my best spy," said Red Hand Pete while vaguely gesturing in the direction of the Chinaman, who bowed accordingly. "You see, a few years ago I got tired of plundering ships in the Mediterranean, so I sailed east and reached Singapore. A wonderful place, but unfortunately the languages spoken there are a bit too complicated to understand. That's when I met Mister Long, who was kind enough to use his translating skills to inform me of the best-loaded and worst-defended ships sailing in the East China Sea. Our collaboration became very fruitful, but things heated up and we had to leave for calmer waters. In the meantime, Mister Long learned about his brother's tragic demise in the Caribbean after his ship had been shot by the _Flying Dutchman_… His name was Sao Feng."

In spite of his grief, Will couldn't help but give a start at the sound of this name. Sao Feng, the Chinese pirate lord… the previous owner of the navigational charts which had been indispensable to save Jack from Davy Jones' Locker.

"Ah, I see you remember that name. Naturally, Mister Long wanted to know what had happened to his brother. So we interrogated a few scoundrels hanging around the taverns of Tortuga and we've learned a fantastic story about the _Dutchman_ and _The Black Pearl_ destroying Lord Beckett along with his _Endeavour_. Good riddance, I daresay! But we also heard about a goddess named Calypso, and that a "Turner" had been aboard Sao Feng's ship on the night he had been killed."

William felt cold drops of sweat running down his spine. A "Turner" had indeed witnessed Sao Feng's last moments on Earth: Elizabeth Swann Turner… Obviously, the pirates were confusing Elizabeth's name with her husband's in their inebriated tales.

"Mister Long confirmed that his brother had a lifelong obsession about finding Calypso, and we learned that a voodoo priestess named Tia Dalma knew how to reach her. We paddled up the Pantano River to find her, but she was gone and her shack was empty. Fortunately, her neighbors were still around and, with some "persuasion", they told us about Calypso: how she had chosen a man, the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, to be her lover, the Master of the Seas; to become immortal, he cut out his heart and locked it in the Dead Man's Chest."

Red Hand Pete lightly touched the scar on the young man's torso.

"The swamp people also told us about him being invulnerable, provided he doesn't step foot on land – and that the only way to destroy him is to stab his heart. And then, six months ago, we've learned that the _Flying Dutchman_ Captain's name was Turner… and all became clear. You **are** Calypso's lover, the Master of the Seas bestowed with supernatural powers: you foolishly gave me a confirmation when you appeared aboard my ship like a ghost!"

The _Conqueror_'s Captain grabbed his captive's chin and forced him to look in his eyes.

"Now, as I've said, I want the Dead Man's Chest to become immortal. I will be Calypso's new protégé, either she likes it or not; and don't think I will waste my time ferrying souls of imbeciles who had been dumb enough to die at sea. I'll roam the ocean forever and pillage every ship passing by. The _Conqueror_ will strike terror in the hearts of every seaman! I will crush the mightiest warships like wisps of straw! Kings will beg me for mercy on their knees! I will gain riches beyond the imagination and no one will be foolish enough to try to stop me. My reign has come!"

"You're… mad…" muttered the younger Turner, looking in disgust at the bulging aquamarine eyes and the foam in the corners of Red Hand Pete's mouth.

"Oh, am I now? Well, great men with great ambition have always been considered crazy by their contemporaries. Besides, this is none of your concern, Turner. You may have thought it clever to not keep the Dead Man Chest's key on you, but you'll never escape from the _Conqueror_. This crate will be your torture chamber and after you've talked, it will become your coffin. So I'm giving you one last chance: tell me where the chest and the key are, and I promise you a quick death. Otherwise, you'll wish you had never been born!"

Will swallowed with difficulty. Five years ago, he had given the Dead Man's Chest to Elizabeth for safekeeping, and he had entrusted the key to his father. Bill was gone, murdered by Red Hand Pete, but Elizabeth was alive: she was raising their four-year-old son, William Turner III, on Shipwreck Island. Every day, she would keep a weather eye on the horizon because she knew with her heart and her soul that her husband will come back to them, in a flash of green light, and they would be finally allowed to live together as a family for the rest of their days.

Elizabeth, his adored wife… His beautiful son… He had seen their child only in drawings or portraits painted by his mother, and sent by Joshamee Gibbs, the unofficial postman of the Turner couple; but Elizabeth's artworks and letters had been enough for Will to love his exceptional little boy…

Red Hand Pete had already killed Bill Turner. And now, he wanted the Dead Man's Chest, at the cost of Elizabeth's and Little William's lives!

"NEVER!" yelled the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman, _but his cry ended with a moan of agony.

"Never? Fine then, you asked for it!" thundered Red Hand Pete. "Mister Long, you'll get your revenge for your brother's death: this man is yours. Now I don't care how you proceed, just get the information that I want. Just remember, he has to be kept half-buried inside the crate at all times so he won't be able to escape, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Master," answered Long, while nervously scratching at the black dragon tattoo he sported on the side of his neck.

"On the double!" barked the pirate captain one last time, before heading for the stairs. By the time he'd reached the lower gun deck, the first cries of pain could be heard from the depths of the _Conqueror_.

Will was in Hell.

TBC…

Next chapter: CJS! ;-)


	7. To arms!

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- To Smithy: _Merci beaucoup, mon amie!_ ;-) Yes, I did modify the rating to stay on the safe side.

- "_A pirate's life for me"_, lyrics by X Atencio, music by George Bruns.

- Jack refers to the _"Macbeth"_ play written between 1603 and 1606 by William Shakespeare (1564–1616).

- This chapter is dedicated to Acacia59601!

* * *

**Chapter ****7: To arms!**

The Faithful Bride had a well-deserved reputation of being the brawliest tavern of Tortuga. Rum was abundant, firsts and furniture flew through the air, guns were shot at random, the women were unforgettable and the musicians provided a great ambiance around, either by playing merry tunes or fighting with the patrons. People had lost count of how many times this establishment had been close to burn down to the ground due to its customers' enthusiasm! But even if it wasn't exactly clean, since a pigsty was located a little too close to the tavern, the Caribbean rascals wouldn't think of a better place to spend their hard-won and very-temporary fortune.

This night was a normal time at the Faithful Bride, meaning another scuffle had erupted, for unknown reasons or even none at all. Flagons were thrown to crash against the walls, showering everyone with rum and glass shards; the men were engaged in sword fighting while the tavern-keeper was shouting at the top of his lungs that he was tired of people wrecking down his tables and chairs and he was going to bash everybody around – not that anyone was paying attention to him. A few drunkards were taking advantage of the confusion to drink for free, and the tavern's serving wenches and hired ladies were exchanging a few slaps about unsolved business implying money or damaged attire. The only quiet people were the patrons sleeping off their booze, slumped down on the few remaining intact furniture… and the solitary customer who was sitting in a corner, nursing a bottle of rum and half-hidden by palm-trees' branches held in a huge vase.

The slender-built, scruffy-dressed man was morosely looking at the fight. He was as drunk as the rest of the customers, but unlike them he didn't feel like participating. He had learned long ago that knocking down a few poor devils wouldn't help to relieve his inner tensions and besides, he had never been into violence. Oh sure, in his life he had been involved in perilous situations that had needed the use of weapons to resolve them – unavoidable, once you've chosen an illegal career – but he had always used his brains first to pull himself out of the fire (literally and figuratively), his sword in second and lastly, his ship's canons. But tonight the man wasn't in physical danger, apart from being on the receiving end of a flying flagon, so he kept on drinking and watching the brawl from the corner of his eye.

His name was Captain Jack Sparrow, the auto-proclaimed most famous pirate of the Caribbean, openly boasting about being the wittiest, smartest, keenest outlaw of those waters, a shining beacon of intelligence among the permanently-inebriated scoundrels of Tortuga. According to Sparrow, his smarts were legendary among his fellow men and his foes, including the hated East India Trading Company who had lost its most disgusting representative in a hail of cannonballs, thanks to his tricks and his very few friends. But alas, ingratitude had greeted Jack Sparrow after he had "leaded" the pirates' armada against Lord Beckett's: shortly after their victory, his twice-traitorous First Mate Hector Barbossa had stolen his ship again, _The Black Pearl_, along with his crew and Jack had never seen them since.

A man who had been hit on the face during the fight stumbled and ran into Jack's table, almost knocking down his rum flagons and jug.

"Oh, c-can't a man (hic!) drink in p-p-peashe around here?" grumbled Sparrow; out of annoyance, he grabbed a discarded empty bottle and broke it on the man's head, which promptly fell unconscious on the stone-tiled floor.

Jack was now the proud owner of a dinghy, _The Sparrow Hawk_, and he had left Tortuga for an adventure quest, all on his own. It would be hard for Jack to be betrayed again when alone on a tiny boat! For five years now, he had searched long and hard for priceless treasures: he had found some, lost them, found some other ones, lost them too and thus preventing him to find his secret _idée fixe_, the legendary Fountain of Youth. Wandering astray of his main goal had made the winds turn in disfavor for Captain Jack Sparrow: he was currently too broke to go on another treasure-trip, and his dinghy was in dire need of repairs!

Stranded on Tortuga, Jack was champing the bit. How frustrating it was, being forced to poverty while he had personal money waiting for him, hidden in a secure place! But to get his hands on it, Jack needed a ship in a better shape than his dinghy. The _Sparrow Hawk_ was a good boat, and he was a magnificent pilot; but his rainy-day cash was stashed on an island where the approach was difficult because of submerged reefs. A damaged dinghy would be too light-weighted and difficult to control to sail through those reefs, and it would end up smashed against the rocks. Jack didn't fear being thrown into the water – he was also a superb swimmer – but after he had gotten on land and dug out his money, how would he leave the island if the _Sparrow Hawk_ was totaled? The prospective of being marooned on the cash-island was bad, so Jack preferred to remain where he was: at least in Tortuga, he could enjoy his favorite drink! Like the popular old saying went: _"Rum gets you through times of no money better than money gets you through times of no rum."_

"But if I don't r-rustle up s-some work" grumbled Captain Jack Sparrow, "I'll h-h-have to serve drinks instead of b-b-buying them!"

The brawl was getting louder, and Jack felt an internal pressing matter developing in his bladder. He got on his feet to search outside for a private spot, almost felt down immediately back on his chair, stood up again and wobbled to the door, holding his last rum flagon in his hand. A man almost ran him down by fleeing from a furiously screaming woman, who was pursuing him while waving around a saucepan like a war hatchet.

"My!" exclaimed Jack, "And they s-s-say thash romance is d-dead!"

Leaving the lights, music and action behind him, Jack got out in the darkened streets of Tortuga. Not that in was quieter, in fact there were as many drunks, fighters and tough-as-nails ladies as inside the Faithful Bride, but the air was a bit fresher. He noticed some drunkards who were playing "Dunk the mayor" in a well again (the poor man must be disgusted by water for life!) while some others had started a rousing game of "William Tell" that implied loaded pistols and flagons standing on the heads of reluctant volunteers. Stomping down on the mud-and-droppings mixture that constituted the island's soil, Jack wandered around until he found a place safe from prying eyes: the ruins of a warehouse that had been destroyed by fire a few weeks ago. Settling his bottle on top of a crumbling wall, he relieved himself against the stones, singing under his breath: "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life fur me. W-We pillage, we plunder, we r-r-rifle and loot, drink up me hearties, yo _hic_! We kidnap and… and ravage and don't give a h-h-hoot, drink up me hearties, yo ho…"

Once Mother Nature's call had been answered, Jack grabbed the rum flagon and took a long swing from it. The abandoned warehouse was almost completely dark and the streets' racket was partially muffled by the distance, giving Captain Sparrow the opportunity to give a lecture in front of an imaginary audience. Impressing shadows with his cultured background was something he had done quite a lot recently: he believed it kept his mind sharp through the fog created by alcohol over-indulgence, even if he would have preferred a live public. Since the Tortuga residents weren't interested in listening to the exploits of the famous captain – bunch of ignoramuses! – Jack had been reduced to talk in the emptiness. To the unaware eye, he acted like a complete lunatic!

"HIC! Well, ladies and genblemen", slurred Jack, looking at the recipient with crossed eyes, "As yu c-c-can see fer yurselves, thish f-f-flagon and my s-stomach are the p-p-perfect eshample of communicating vessels…"

"_Jack?"_ asked a voice in the darkness.

The intoxicated captain frowned at this sound: someone in the nonexistent audience had interrupted him during his lecture? That wasn't something he was accustomed to! He waved in the direction of the invisible disturber, saying: "I'll answer q-q-questions at the end of my (hic!) exposé, my good man! Now, ash I was explicashioning…"

"Jack!" called out the voice, louder this time.

"Itsh _Captain_ Jack Sparrow to ye!" shot the drunken pirate. "Why can't p-p-people remember my honorable title? I'd appreshiate t-t-to not have to repeat myshelf a thousand times per day!"

"Please, listen to me," pressed the voice, and by its tone Jack guessed it was a man's voice. The abandoned warehouse's darkness and the former captain of _The Black Pearl_'s drunken state made itimpossible for him to discern the interloper's face, only the vague contours of a tall and large silhouette hiding in the shadows.

"Whaddya want?" mumbled Jack, getting unnerved by this surprise visit. His hand dropped the rum flagon to reach for the weapons tucked in his belt. "If yu're here for a debt I owe ye (hic!), now's not a good time! In fact, 'thish never a good time fer eventual r-r-reimburshments!"

"Jack, please listen!" said the man. "Will Turner is in danger and…"

"WHASH?!" roared Captain Jack Sparrow, his kohl-rimmed dark eyes getting as big as saucers. "WILL IN DANGER? SOMEONE (hic!) HASH ATTACKED MY WILLIAM?"

"Yes, that's right. Jack, he needs your help…"

The man couldn't say anything any further: Jack drew his sword out of its scabbard in a furious movement, brandishing the weapon and whirling it dangerously above his head while yelling at the top of his lungs:

"WILL NEEDSH HELP! **TO ARMS!!**"

But Captain Jack Sparrow's rallying cry was brusquely interrupted when he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face in an avalanche of debris; a cloud of ashes rose in the air, making him cough, sneeze and hiccupping at the same time. He dropped his sword and the momentum made it hit a wall with a loud metallic clang before the blade planted in the ground. Jack hiccupped once more, and then quickly passed out from the excess of rum.

The tall man sighed, shaking his head in consternation at the sight of the crumpled form snoring among burned wood planks. It wasn't going to be easy!

* * *

The shock of cold hitting his face brought Jack to consciousness with a shock. He opened his eyes but could see nothing but dark water, floating vegetal particles and a curtain of bubbles escaping from his mouth and nose. He tried to move but an iron-like hand had tightened on the nape of his neck, forcefully maintaining his head under water. Jack struggled frantically, his hands searching desperately for a way out of the liquid, but the grip on his neck was too strong and he believed for a brief minute that someone was trying to drown him. Was it an end for the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow?

But before he could panic at the thought, the hand released him and pulled him out of the water. Coughing, sputtering, Jack shook his head like a dog, his braided hair and dreadlocks thoroughly wet and flying everywhere. His mind and his eyes were much clearer now; much to his horror, he realized that someone had woken him up by dunking his head into a drinking-trough full of dirty water.

"Who had dared to humidify my curls?" growled the drenched pirate captain, his teeth slightly shattering from the cold drink he had swallowed.

"I did."

Jack almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the nearby voice. He spun around and saw a towering, strongly-built sailor standing behind him… Oh gosh, the last he had seen of him, this man had agreed to serve under the mast of the _Flying Dutchman_, but willingly that time.

"Bootstrap? Bill Turner?" exclaimed Jack incredulously.

"Aye, it's me."

Once again, Jack's obsidian-colored eyes went enormous. Bill Turner had sure changed since the maelstrom battle! He was dressed with hard-wearing linen pants, sea boots, a knotted sash beneath his belt and a dark red shirt under the baldric crossing his chest and supporting a mean-looking sword. His knitted hat was gone, replaced by a black bandana and his long gray hair was tied in a ponytail. He was a far cry from the helpless twice-cursed man, wrapped in a long coat and covered from head to toes with barnacles, who had informed Jack in _The Black Pearl_'s hold that Davy Jones was expecting him to honor his thirteen-year old dangerous bargain.

Even Bill's face had changed: the sad, pathetic expression was gone. In fact, his features looked like they had been chiseled in a block of marble and his eyes were shining like sapphires under the sun, which was strange considering the badly-lighted streets of Tortuga.

If Jack didn't know better, he could have sworn "Bootstrap" Bill Turner had decided to go back to piracy! The older man had the same determination he had showed just before the _Black Pearl_'s crew had sacked Nassau Port… without firing a single shot, thanks to Sparrow's wonderful plans.

"Don't get me wrong; mate, I am glad to see you… But what are you doing here?" asked Jack. "Shouldn't you be with Will aboard the _Flying Dutchman_?"

Bill's eyes flashed in barely-contained emotion as he answered: "I need your help. Jack… Will is gone. A man had captured him before firing at us, leaving the _Dutchman_ in ruins. You're my only hope. Help me find my son!"

If he hadn't been recently dunk into a container full of cold water, Jack could have sworn he was dreaming after drinking too much rum. He stood agape in front of his oldest friend, his legendary brains momentarily immured by the astonishing declaration. Will had been kidnapped? The ghost ship was shot to pieces? Bill Turner was standing right in front of him, begging for help? That was simply unbelievable! How could anyone succeed in entrapping Will, anyway? The kid had been granted with supernatural powers since he'd become the _Dutchman_'s captain, he couldn't be caught like a novice pirate!

Bill grabbed Jack Sparrow's arm and head him back to the Faithful Bride tavern: "Let's have a drink, shall we?"

Exceptionally speechless, Jack followed obediently, his mind reeling with questions raised by the sudden apparition of his former shipmate and his tragic news.

* * *

Moments later, the two men were sharing a miraculously intact rum bottle while seated on the less-damaged chairs of the Faithful Bride. Jack had toweled himself dry with a ripened curtain hanging from one of the windows, much to the tavern-keeper's annoyance, but one cold glare from Bootstrap Bill had solved the matter quickly. The rickety table they had chosen had one leg shorter than the three others, making it susceptible to pitching but Captain Jack Sparrow and Bill Turner couldn't care less for the moment. The brawl had quieted down so their conversation could be maintained at a reasonable level.

Bill had told his former commander the events leading to Will's capture: the soul's call, the brig, Will talking to Peterson; and then the enemy ship opening fire without warning, the gybe maneuver, the _Flying Dutchman_ torn to shreds, Bill getting wounded during the attack.

"When I came to, the brig was gone. The men told me it had headed west, and Will never came back from this ship. How did Peterson ever managed to shackle him, I'll never know! I can't even imagine why he wanted to capture Will in the first place, my boy has never hurt anyone in his life!" concluded Bill in desperation.

Jack drank from his jug, his eyes never leaving the elder Turner: "Could you describe me that Peterson, and his ship? I'd like to have more details, even if they seem irrelevant to you."

"Well, I had time to look at that brig long enough, after Will went to its lower deck, but it looked very ordinary: average size, a tonnage from 400 to 420, defended by about sixteen guns. White sails, black painting under the waterline. Its name was _The Benevolent_, which was strange come to think of it: its figurehead was the statue of a Conquistador warrior armed to the teeth. I remembered it from an engraved picture of those Spanish soldiers you've showed me once, in one of the books you used to have in your cabin aboard the _Black Pearl_."

"And that Peterson?" asked Jack, his eyes narrowing slightly as his mind's clogs were turning furiously inside his brains. "How was he, physically speaking?"

"He's a tall man, about Will's size. Blond hair and beard, ordinary face… until I saw him coming back on the deck and William was nowhere on sight. Peterson had that cruel smirk on his lips and it reminded me of Davy Jones, when he shanghaied sailors into service. And then his crewmembers opened fire on us. I regret not having looked at Peterson's mug more attentively; but when I realized they were attacking us, my only concern had been to protect the _Dutchman_ so we could save Will!"

Captain Jack Sparrow slammed his jug on the table, a disgusted expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" asked Bill, alarmed.

"Will is in more danger than you think. He has fallen into the clutches of the poorest example of a pirate the Caribbean isles had ever seen, a nasty piece of work named Red Hand Pete."

"RED HAND PETE?" exclaimed the elder Turner, knocking down his chair by jumping on his feet too quickly.

"Hush! Keep your voice down!" hissed Jack, gesturing wildly to Bill to sit. "We cannot draw attention on our gentlemanly persons now, can we?

The ex-doomed sailor looked around: indeed, some of the Faithful Bride patrons were staring at him, wondering if his exclamations were the beginning of a new fight or simply an argument. He sat down back to his chair, glancing at the too-curious customers who soon lost all interest in the big man and resumed to their drinking.

"Aye, I am sure it is Red Hand Pete. He looks just like your accurate description, my good man! I've never met him personally but I've heard about him. Believe it or not, Pete is a British lord's son. First of the litter, prime heir and all that nonsense, until a scandal shook the bigwigs' society: a pretty young lady had "disappeared" from Pete's father manor, on the morrow of a huge ball the old man had thrown in for his son's seventeenth birthday. There was an inquiry, of course, and then the authorities found out that some local girls had also strangely "vanished" in the past. They all had something in common: Pete had shown a lot of interest about their anatomies before they were gone, never to be seen again."

"You mean… He was responsible for those poor girls' disappearance?" asked Bill Turner, his fist tightening around his jug of rum.

"Quite right, but the matter had been dealt discreetly by Pete's Daddy and his money, bribing the local authorities to label those peasant girls as "runaways". But this time, the victim was the daughter of a lord who wanted to know what the Hell had happened to his lass. Long story short, the authorities suspected Pete since he had been openly goggling the little lady during the ball. With his reputation and the gossips, it raised quite a ruckus that brought shame and scandal on Pete's family. The case was finally closed since the girl's body was never found – just like the others! No cadaver, no victim, Pete got out scot-free. But Daddy disinherited him, gave all the booty to the younger son, and sent Pete to the Royal Navy Academy in the hopes he'd be slaughtered in a sea fight."

"Pete got his captaincy and sail away a few years later," pursued Jack while wiping his lips clean using his shirt's sleeve, "but his loyalty to the Navy and the British crown didn't last long: he got greedy and was accused of embezzlement. He stole the command of a Spanish ship, _El Conquistador_, simply by poisoning its food supplies, killing everyone onboard. Pete renamed it _The Conqueror_ and then fled to the Caribbean. He quickly became the worst gentleman of fortune, hated his esteemed colleagues and driven mad by his unquenchable thirst for money. Even Tortuga's worst scoundrels refused to associate with him! He ruthlessly kills anyone standing between him and his prize, including women and children: people who had survived their encounter with _The Conqueror_ are extremely few. It is said that his right hand is permanently bloodstained, like in the _"Macbeth"_ play, thus his nickname of Red Hand Pete."

"How come I've never heard about this man before?" wondered Bill Turner out loud.

"Ah, that would be because Pete didn't remain in the Caribbean for very long," answered Jack. "In fact, things got so hot in here for him that he had to flee again, this time for the Mediterranean Sea – and that was around the time you and I have started our association. The last I've heard, Red Hand Pete was in Asia, much to everyone's relief. The bounty over his head is high – about 10 000 guineas, but no one had even dared to try and claim it."

Bootstrap Bill was shaking in barely-contained rage.

"But what does he want with Will? You've said that Red Hand Pete is only interested in money and there isn't a doubloon aboard the _Flying Dutchman_! We have been ferrying souls day and night since Will became our Captain and we never took a coin from the flotsams we've crossed path with. Why would that man want to capture my son?"

"W-e-l-l," said Jack, "Red Hand Pete is a cautious man. He wouldn't have gone through all the trouble to capture Will if he weren't sure to obtain from him some information about valuables, whatever they would be. He must have been somehow convinced that Will knows something about a hidden treasure. Anyway, the _**why**_ isn't important right now: what is most urgent is to evaluate the _**how**_, the _**who**_ and the _**which**_."

"What do you mean?"

"The _Flying Dutchman_ is apparently out of commission and my dinghy, _The Sparrow Hawk_, is far too modest for a rescue mission. Consequently, finding a real ship is necessary. Like, _how_? Unlike the Royal Navy vessels, the pirates' are well-guarded and there is no time to steal one. No captain worth his salt would accept to sell his ship. One option would be to "rent" one and even then, _how_ its captain could be convinced to go on a hunt after Red Hand Pete? Substantial finances would be needed!"

"I have money. Enough to buy two ships, their cargos and their crews," said Bill tersely.

Jack blinked; another mind-blowing piece of news! The elder Turner, who never had more than ten coins in his pocket during his life as a merchant sailor, was telling him he had the capital to start his own shipping business after taking care of ghostly passengers for five years!

"You have coin? That is most interess… most intriguing! But it solves the **how** problem. Now, the _**who**_, meaning _who_ would be the pirate captain crazy enough to risk his life, his crewmembers', and his ship to retrieve William? It so happens there is a few men in Tortuga who would accept, assuming they'd receive sufficient gold to soothe their worries, and yet _who_ wouldn't be greedy enough to become backstabbers. Since you are certain of your unexpected but not unwelcome wealth, the _**who**_ problem could be solved fast. And there's the _**which**_ problem: it isn't about in _which_ direction to sail, since that can be found out quite easily thanks to my magical compass, but _which_ plan to elaborate in order to rescue Will? According to my sources, Red Hand Pete is smart, organized, ruthless and prudent. He's certainly keeping your son locked up aboard _The Conqueror_, using unknown chains, so a failure-proof plan is mandatory to find Will at one go and eliminate quickly whatever is restraining him."

"I am not smart enough to make such a plan, Jack," said Bill somberly. "I am half-mad with worry and anger! To think Will is at the hands of a monster… It's like imagining him being captured by Davy Jones again."

Jack reached out and grabbed the elder Turner's slightly shaky hand over the rickety table: "Take heart, Bootstrap, we'll find William."

"You mean… You **do** accept to come with me to save Will?" asked Bill, not daring to believe what he was hearing.

"You wound me, Bootstrap!" said Jack, feigning offense. "Do you honestly think I would shirk from a piece of sea rubbish like Red Hand Pete to retrieve that whelp of yours who happens to be a rare friend of mine? Pete's obsessed with treasures; well, so am I! But not all treasures are made of gold and silver, savvy? And the one recently stolen from the _Flying Dutchman _is worthy of my attention. If Red Hand Pete thinks he's powerful enough to vanquish me, he's got another thing coming! I've fought against immortal walking skeletons, the Kraken, Davy Jones, Pelegostos cannibals and respectable colleagues to whom I own money; I've escaped from the British Royal Navy, Beckett and countless other law-abiding men who would have found glory and fame by making me dance the hangman's jig. Heck, I even went down the Locker and got resurrected on time to kill Jones while caught in a maelstrom. How many times people had thought me a goner, eh? And yet here I am, alive and well! I am Captain Jack Sparrow! I can do anything…. And that includes scuttling _The Conqueror_ and its commander to the depths, with my regards!"

Bill had a small smile after hearing Jack's tirade: for the first time since Will had been kidnapped, a glimpse of hope was shining inside the older man's heart. If anyone could make a plan to save Will, it would be Jack Sparrow, the most eccentric rascal of the Caribbean!

The two men clunk their respective jugs in a silent toast to Will, sealing their rescuing association, just before gulping down its contents and getting up. They left the wrecked Faithful Bride tavern to head for the port of Tortuga. Neither Captain Jack Sparrow nor William Turner Senior ever noticed the Chinaman sitting in a nearby corner and sipping on a glass of water while listening discreetly but attentively to their conversation.

A medium-built, completely bald Asiatic man dressed in plain gray clothes and who was sporting the tattoo of a red dragon on the left side of his neck.

TBC…

Cliffie! ;-)


	8. Turkish delights

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- "Ammand" is one of the Pirate Lords of POTC3 and a member of the Brethren Court, interpreted by Ghassan Massoud who also worked with Orlando Bloom in the "Kingdom of Heaven" movie: he was playing Salah al-Dìn. I couldn't resist using his character in my story! ;-)

- Some details come from Pirates Wiki.

* * *

**Chapter ****8: Turkish delights**

Captain Jack Sparrow and Bootstrap Bill Turner strode towards the harbors of Tortuga in the night, without paying any attention to the various fights, screams, riots and pistol firing that erupted at almost every step they took. It was another normal night in town, and both men were too deep in their thoughts – Bill frantic of worry about his son, Jack's mind clogs turning as wildly as his magical compass did during his stay in Davy Jones' Locker – to notice they had been quietly followed since they had left the Faithful Bride.

The bald Chinese hadn't detached his eyes from the two pirates since he had overheard their conversation in the tavern. At least, after months of investigation in the Caribbean, he had some fresh news about Red Hand Pete! And if that detested pirate was roaming those isles, it could only mean the spy's main subject of search wasn't far away. The Asian thanked his good fortune to have made him stop at the Faithful Bride to drench his thirst: who would have thought he'd gain vital information in that permanently-wrecked waterhole? Quickening his pace, he followed the duo heading for the harbors, his shadowing made easy by the noticeably tall and strong Bill Turner.

During their walk, Jack remained uncharacteristically quiet for the record time of five minutes; then, he asked to his companion:

"How did you manage to arrive in Tortuga unnoticed, by the way? If the _Flying Dutchman_ had come to town, all the citizens would have run away in fright, even completely drunk off their heads!"

"I told you, the _Dutchman_ is crippled!" answered Bill. "We managed to reach a nearby island named _Tres Rocas_ and we dropped anchor there. It's a completely deserted place, even by natives; probably because of the volcano which fumes from time to time, but we couldn't afford to be picky. Besides, this island is covered with trees and we needed wood for the hull. So I gave orders to the men to start repairing the ship, gave my command to Maccus and soon afterwards I left for Tortuga in a dinghy, to seek you out."

"It's a bit of luck you've found me here, mate! I've been pretty busy since our last encounter, and quite discreet… Secret business about finding treasures, and all that sort of things…"

"I couldn't waste time!" growled Bill Turner. "I **had** to find you, since half of the other crewmembers couldn't participate in the search. They have been… completely disoriented since Will's kidnapping, repeating the same sentence over and over again: _"The Dutchman must have a Captain… The Dutchman must have a Captain"_, like the mindless zombies they were during Jones' reign! The other half of the crew is working hard at keeping their shipmates on track, but I know that sooner or latter they will succumb to despair, too. Only I managed to keep a clear mind – that's why I left the ship at once, before the hopelessness would crush my mind as well. I guess my love for Will has overcome that debilitating rule… at least for the time being."

Jack Sparrow glanced at his friend's face, full of anguish and anger, and for the first time of his life, the pirate captain surprised himself by secretly envying the deep affection running between the Turners. It would have been nice if he'd had with his supposed father, Captain Teague, the same beautiful relationship Bill and Will shared.

"I can only wish Maccus will maintain enough discipline to make the men work hard at repairing the ship, so they would catch up and meet us in Tortuga in a few days, but it's a fool's hope," sadly concluded the elder Turner.

"Tsk, tsk," clucked Jack between his teeth. "Never underestimate the power of foolishness! It works wonders, believe me! And you wouldn't have wasted your time searching for me if, deep down in yer heart, you didn't have full confidence in my foolish plans. You did well by giving your command to ol' hammerhead shark's face; now, let you be piloted by my mastermind; we'll find the perfect partner-in-crime, and soon it will be pound-the-perpetrator-to-the-ground time!"

Bill grunted in approval, and then the two men reached the docks, the only relatively quiet place of Tortuga. A few ships were harbored there, tranquilly floating on the calm waters while sailors were loading and unloading crates, barrels and bales under the lights produced by lanterns and torches, using the gangways to walk from the vessels to the piers.

"Now, let's see," mumbled Jack, his eyes growing huge while his gait was getting wobblier, acting as if he hadn't completely sobered up. "Since time is running out, we cannot waste it by arguing with unreasonable pirate captains who wouldn't agree to embark for a trip implying potential damages and certain danger, especially if we tell them the sought-after villain is Red Hand Pete. So we need someone who: _primo_, hates Pete (that's easy); _secundo_, isn't afraid of him (not so easy); _tercio_, wouldn't mind a bit of extra cash (then again, who would?) and _quarto_, has enough authority on his crew to make them obey without arguments (thus definitively eliminate drunks or incapables). Considering the urgency of the matter, your affirmed funds and the state of my business partnerships, I hereby choose… **this vessel**."

Jack pointed to a three-mast, ten-cannon galley named _Seref_, which was tied to a bollard. From the looks of it, Bill Turner could see this ship was Turkish and it had seen better days. Each mast carried a triangular-shaped sail which used to be white but were now gray from dirt and extensive use, not to mention the numerous patches of linen sewed on to repair damages caused by rips and bullet holes. Twenty oars-holes had been built on each side of the galley but the aft had no superstructure. The dark gray with violet shades paint of the hull was peeling off and the ropes holding the sails were in dire need of replacement.

Even the sailors looked tired as they were busy loading supplies aboard, lowering crates and barrels down the lower deck through a hatchway, along with a few live sheep, goats and chickens which were loudly protesting against the treatment of being locked up in small cages. In the flurry of activities, none of the galley's sailors noticed the scruffy-looking pirate and the tall man who were looking intensively at the _Seref_, the only exception being the Chinaman observing the duo from the harbor's shadows.

"This ship?" asked the _Dutchman_'s First Mate. "It's a galley, and it looks like it hadn't had a good pillaging in years; I don't know if it would be fast enough to catch up with _The Conqueror, _or strong enough to stand a combat!"

"It'll do, trust me. Now, the main thing is to convince its Captain. YOO-HOO!" called out Jack, "Captain Ammand the Corsair! Will you grant me permission to come aboard for a lucrative parlay?"

The Turkish sailors stopped their work to look in astonishment at Jack and Bill. There was a flurry of animation on the upper deck, and then a well-groomed, tall man clad with a gold-and-brown coat and an embroidered cloak draped across his shoulders, appeared at the ship's rail. His long brown hair was escaping from a head-dress. He looked in his mid-fifties and his gaunt face was bearing the scars of a man who had known many hardships in his life. His piercing brown eyes narrowed slightly and his mouth had a small moue of distain beneath his large, curled mustache when he spotted the lean silhouette of Jack Sparrow, waving at him from the pier.

"Captain Ammand, _Selamün Aleyküm_, peace be upon you!" said Jack with a flourish of his battered black tricorn.

"I **did** have peace… Just before your arrival!" grumbled the Turkish commander with a deep, gruff voice.

"My, aren't you grumpy today! Has business been so bad recently?"

"What do you want, Sparrow?" asked Ammand, completely ignoring Jack's question.

The expected answer rang out at once: "It's _**Captain**_ Jack Sparrow!"

"Captain?" chuckled Ammand slightly. "Last I've heard, _The Black Pearl_ had sailed away without you and you've been reduced to command a dinghy. Were you so drunk that you've missed the tide and the _Pearl_ couldn't wait for you?"

Ammand's words, quickly translated in Turkish by his First Mate, brought a laugh from all his crewmembers. Jack's face darkened slightly since he didn't like to be mocked about him loosing the command of his beloved _Black Pearl_; he steeled himself to launch another one of his tirades about him having being viciously mutinied upon, but a discreet cough from Bill reminded him of more pressing affairs.

"I am not gracing this pier with my magnetic personality to listen to lame jokes, Ammand! Nor do I wish to discuss about the disgraceful actions of my former First Mate, Hector Barbossa, to whom I wish he'll soon play a gastronomic part in a Pelegostos barbecue. I am here to bring you a fortune!"

If the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea's attention had been caught by Jack's words, his tough-as-nails features betrayed nothing of his feelings. Casually leaning on his ship's rail, he asked: "And how much this fortune will cost me, Captain Sparrow?"

"Oh, come on, Captain Ammand the Corsair. Have I ever misled you?"

"More than once, yes you did! And you still owe me guineas, about that reckless bet you've made in Tripoli, remember? So why should I listen to you? You're a captain without a ship and a man without trust!"

"I beg to differ!" argued Jack. "This is an inaccurate evaluation of my wonderful character traits. The fact is, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly... stupid. Consequently, you can always trust me. I am outrageously honest in my dishonesty! But I am not here to talk about my qualities, even if they are a fascinating subject of endless debates. I am telling this one more and last time: I am bringing you an amount of coins of enough importance to erase my debts past, present and future. Are you interested? A "Yes" or "No" answer will suffice, but be prompt in your decision: you're not the only gentleman to whom I own money to, savvy?"

A long moment of silence followed; Ammand studied Jack Sparrow's slightly staggering gait long and hard, and then he gestured in the direction of Bill Turner.

"And who is this?"

"He is Bootstrap Bill," answered Jack. "Good man, good pirate, and presently the holder of your future wealth. This means, by the way, that his eventual exclusion of our future discussion is an absolute no-no. But as much as I'd like to have a conversation with you, Ammand, I'd rather not have it in front of your subordinates or indiscreet passer-bys. So, could we retire in a private place to talk?"

The Corsair grumbled a word in Turkish that didn't sound pleasant, and then he finally relented:

"All right, come aboard my _kadirga_ (galley). But you'd better not be joking, Captain Sparrow!"

"Why, thanks, mate! You have a strong head for business, fer sure!" answered Jack in a nonchalant tone, just before muttering under his rum-saturated breath: "Parlays are kind of enriching, but the preliminaries are bothersome!"

* * *

Moments afterwards, Jack and Bill found themselves in Captain Ammand the Corsair's private quarters. The place was roomy with a round table standing right in the middle, covered with sea maps and navigational instruments. A sleeping pallet stuffed with embroidered cushions of all kind of size and colors had been installed in one of the corners of the room and rugs had been displayed in both the floor and the wooden walls. A huge, sculpted bronze lantern was hanging from the ceiling and a strong smell of tea floated in the air. But some of the rugs were threadbare, the maps were torn and covered with inscriptions, and the state of the room was confirming that its owner had indeed fallen on hard times.

Ammand's First Mate, Yusuf, closed the Great Cabin's door behind him and remained rooted on the spot, acting as both bodyguard and sentinel. Bill wasn't too happy about the situation, being locked up in a place with a grumpy pirate captain who evidently didn't have good memories of his former associations with Sparrow. But Jack was acting nonchalant, apparently completely unimpressed by the decoration or Ammand's temper. He looked pretty sure of his plan so the elder Turner had no other choice but to play along. Then again, his ex-captain had always been confident in his ability to land on his feet, even when his clever schemes got completely wrecked by treason or tempests!

Ammand paced back and forth his private quarters, his curled shoes almost soundless on the rugs. Then he looked up at the former captain of the _Black Pearl_ and barked:

"So? What is this big fortune you are boasting about?"

"Patience is a virtue, Ammand: you should practice it!" answered Jack, casually sitting on the cabin's table. But before the Corsair could snap at him, he calmly took a discarded shilling and flipped it between his fingers, making the coin run down his knuckles like on a staircase's steps; he acted with the easiness of a conjurer making his number in front of a hostile public. Then Jack looked up and his obsidian-colored eyes locked on Ammand's dark gaze.

"Red Hand Pete," said Captain Sparrow with a small smile.

A look of stupefaction instantly fell upon Ammand's weathered face, and Bill saw the Pirate Lord's expression changing from irritated to downright murderous. Alarmed, William Turner Sr. glanced at Yusuf and he could see the man suddenly looked very ill at ease, too.

"Red Hand Pete?" growled Ammand dangerously. "He's in the Caribbean?"

"Quite right," answered Jack. "I have this information from Bootstrap Bill, and I daresay his testimony is valid. He has seen Red Hand Pete with his own eyes, aboard _The Conqueror_ and sailing on the Caribbean waters with his usual arrogance!"

The Corsair turned around and violently lashed out at a silver tea service displayed on a small stand, which flew across the cabin while Ammand yelled a very long list of insults in Turkish. Yusuf jumped in fright and Bill swallowed nervously; but Jack remained seated on the table, his legs dangling as if he didn't have a care or a worry in the world, even though Ammand was so furious he looked like he could draw out his curved sabre from its scabbard, or take his pistol from the cummerbund he was wearing under his embroidered waistcoat and start shooting at his visitors. A long moment of uneasiness passed before the corsair calmed down; after Jack was sure Ammand was willing to listen again, he calmly pursued:

"Yes, he is back, and nastier than ever."

"I would have thought the Chinese had executed him years ago!" barked Ammand. "That double-crosser… he'll rue the day of his birth after I'm done with him! But what does it have to do with you, Sparrow? You've never been betrayed by that dog, so why are you giving me this information? I can't believe it is out of the goodness of your heart!"

"Actually, Ammand, it is out of the friendship I share with Bootstrap Bill here," said Jack, hopping down the table to walk toward the Pirate Lord. "We do happen to have an account to settle with Red Hand Pete. You see, he recently took away someone Bill and I deeply care about. This person is currently aboard _The Conqueror_ and we are very determined to organize a find-and-rescue mission that includes heavily body damages to Pete and his minions. But, as you pointed out earlier, for all its speed and my sailing expertise, my valiant ship _The Sparrow Hawk_ cannot catch up with Pete's brig. Isn't that a sad truth! That's why I am proposing you an association: you, Bootstrap Bill and I sail together on the _Seref_, we attack _The Conqueror_, blow it to pieces until we'll use its shards to pick our teeth with, and simultaneously we deliver Pete's prisoner."

"I know you'd hate to admit it, Ammand," added Jack with a smug smile, "but both you and I have motivation to run after that disgusting offal: you want revenge for the dirty trick he played on you at Istanbul; I want my kidnapped friend back. **You** have the adequate vessel and the needed artillery to do so; **we** have the adequate means to find Pete and to finance this expedition. Your participation would be generously repaid for, of course!"

"Generously how, pray tell?" mocked Ammand. "You've never had three doubloons to your name, Sparrow! Every time you've laid your hands on a treasure, you managed to loose it!"

"I regret to say so, but indeed I don't have monies in my possession for the moment," admitted Jack. "If I did, I would have bought a new ship, recruited a new crew, and sailed after Red Hand Pete. My friend Bill, on the other hand, has told me about some very convincing arguments…"

Three pairs of eyes – expectant, doubtful, attentive, depending on which sockets they belonged to – turned towards the tall, muscled sailor who hadn't said a word since Jack had asked for a parlay with the Turkish corsair. Bootstrap Bill looked at each man very cautiously, and then he took from inside his red dark shirt a large leather tobacco-pouch. The elder Turner undid its strings and his fingers dug inside to reveal to his audience… a diamond scintillating in the palm of his hand!

Ammand's body stiffened at this sight, Yusuf opened his eyes wide and even Jack let out a soft whistle of admiration: never, in his born days, he would have imagined Bill Turner would use gems for payment to find Will! How in the world did his ex-shipmate manage to get his hands on this kind of beauty? The stone looked like it had fallen from the crown of a king!

"_Well," _thought Jack,_ "it seems like ol' Bootstrap has accomplished the impossible: he has surprised me, the unpredictable Captain Jack Sparrow!"_

Ammand took a step forward, his eyes fixed on Bill's incredible offering, and then he raised his head to ask the ex-doomed sailor a silent question, who nodded just before deposing the gem in the corsair's palm. Ammand took the diamond between his fingertips and examined it under the light provided by the lantern. The stone was perfect: it was transparent and colorless – a testimony of its purity – cut in the perfect shape of a drop, and with tiny, multi-colored flashes of lights shining within… This diamond was worth at least a thousand guineas on the official market! Ammand had a hard time to keep an impassible expression on his face while holding this beautiful stone. So it seemed that Jack Sparrow wasn't lying about the promised fortune, after all!

"Very nice piece, Master Bootstrap!" finally said the Pirate Lord. "And I'm a good judge on gemstones."

"I will give you this bag of diamonds," said Bootstrap Bill slowly, "if you accept to help us find Red Hand Pete. You can keep this one as first payment if you wish, but under the condition we go out with the tide."

A stunned silence followed the elder Turner's declaration; how often a pirate captain would get the occasion to offer the services of his ship and his crew, for a payment of a bagful of diamonds, during his whole career? That would be a legendary exploit among the scoundrels of the Seven Seas! And Ammand couldn't deny he needed this godsend money. Even after the defeat of Lord Beckett at the maelstrom battle, things haven't been easy those past few years for him and his privateers wreaking havoc in the Black Sea. In fact, business had been so bad Ammand had to flee the European waters to make people forget about the 4,400 guineas reward offered by the East India Trading Company for his head!

Jack felt a brief, absurd pang of regret that he wouldn't be the receiver of those gems, but he mentally shrugged it off: it wasn't the time to be petty over stones and besides, his invincible brains had already made various plans that would allow him to grab his rainy-day booty while saving Will at the same time!

"So what do you say, Ammand?" interfered Jack, parading along the Great Cabin as if he owned the place. "Didn't I tell you I was bringing you a fortune? Diamonds for your help, it's a fair deal, don't you think so? Yes, you do think so; I can read it in your eyes! Do we have an accord, then?"

Ammand looked first at Jack's extended hand, secondly at Bill, and then at his First Mate who nodded affirmatively in the shadows of his captain's private quarters. Finally, he reached out and shook Jack's hand.

"We have an accord. The _Seref_ will leave Tortuga as soon as we have finished loading the supplies. In the meantime, you are my guests; but don't you think for a minute you will be giving orders on my deck, Captain Sparrow!"

"Perish the thought, Captain Ammand!" retorted Jack, "I'll be too busy planning our strikes against Red Hand Pete to waste precious time with pointless quarrels about command, anyway. I've already had my share of those with Barbossa, that sneaky rascal! If it may reassure you, keep in mind that all your crewmembers come from your homeland and they don't speak English; I am a talented polyglot, but I barely know three words of Turkish!"

Ammand snorted, his bushy eyebrows still knitted from the most surprising conversation he just had with the most silver-tongued pirate of the Caribbean and his quiet partner, and then he turned around and talked to Yusuf in Turkish. The First Mate bowed and left the cabin, ready to give his captain's orders to the sailors working on the upper deck.

"And how will you manage to find Red Hand Pete, Sparrow?" asked the corsair. "It is not likely he will drop anchor in Tortuga to please us!"

"Ah, that would be where this incredible possession of mine will come in handy," said Jack while snatching his compass from his belt in a swift movement. He opened the lid and, as on cue, the disk made from a slice of walrus tusk started to spin gently on its axis. "My compass here is unique…"

"By "unique", you mean broken?" asked Ammand while looking disinterestedly at the object which wasn't pointing towards the usual direction.

"This compass doesn't point to the north, but to the thing you want most in the world."

"What?" scoffed the Pirate Lord. "Are you trying to tell me you rely on this supposedly-magic object to find Red Hand Pete, _serçe_ (sparrow)? I hope you haven't paid too much for that piece of junk!"

Jack shook his head, making the many beads entangled in his hair bang at each other; people could be really clueless about his gifted mind, sometimes! He gestured to Bill to come closer; he delicately deposited the compass in the older man's palm, and asked him: "Tell me, Bootstrap, what does your heart desires most?"

Bill's blue eyes were eloquent as he glanced briefly at the compass: the disk instantly stopped its spinning motion, the fleur-de-lys needle pointing in the south-west direction. Jack had a wide smile, showing all his gold, silver and enamel teeth.

"Captain Ammand, we have our heading!" he shouted in joy.

* * *

Meanwhile, aboard _The Conqueror_ sailing in the darkness of the night, things were getting difficult for the sailors who were trying to sleep in their hammocks hanging from the lower deck's beams. In fact, since they had attacked the _Flying Dutchman_, they had been sleep-deprived and their tempers were getting shorter. But how could they get any rest, with those dreadful cries of pain coming from the orlop deck?

"Damn it!" grumbled a crewmember. "There's no way to get any sleep in here!"

"Aw, shaddap, Lewis!" said another shipmate named Brown. "It's bad enough ta hear those screams, no need to add yurs!"

"Jefferson tried ta make hisself some earplugs with melted candle wax yesterday, and now he cannut take it out o' his right ear!" added a third man. "Ah told 'im t'was a dumb thing ta do, but he said the noise was getting' on his nerves!"

"Aye, an' it's no use to try an' sleep on the upper deck!" said Brown, "'Cause ya can hear the cries there, too!"

"Why this damned Chinese don't stop his tortures at nights?" asked Lewis. "At least, we would sleep!"

"Well, Puny Long told the Cap'tain he'd make the prisoner talk in three hours, an' it's been three days an' nights!" said a fat sailor who was constantly scratching his hair. "Cap'tain isn't pleased, an' if the Chinese doesn't get results soon, he'd get ah taste o' his own medicine. That's why Long's workin' double-shifts ta make the prisoner talk!"

"Whatchoo think, Tony?" asked Brown. "Reckon the Turner cap'tain will spit it out anytime soon?"

"Who knows?" answered the white-bearded man laconically, his gaze fixed on the rope holding his hammock.

"Yeah, that whelp is more resistant than 'e looks!" said Lewis. "Though he'd be easy ta break after the Cap'tain destroyed his s'posed magical powers o' sumthink, but it sure is takin' Long a lotta time ta make him talk! Wunder what the Cap'tain want from Turner…"

"Never mind the wind blowin' from astern, mate!" said Tony in a sharp tone. "Askin' questions about the Captain's decisions kinda unhealthy for us simple sailors, get it?"

Lewis shrugged, unconcerned by the old man's words of advice, and then he rolled inside his hammock for the hundredth time since he had settled down to sleep. Silence reigned for a moment, troubled only by the sounds of their comrade scratching at his flea-infested clothes, and then a terrible cry of suffering rang out from _The Conqueror_'s depths.

"Aw no! Not again!" yelled Brown.

"'Tis gettin' worse each time! Damn the Captain an' his ideas!" added Lewis. "If we don't sleep, we go mad fer sure!"

"It wasn't done already?" asked Tony sarcastically, but his humor was lost to his shipmates. More cries followed and each time, grumbles and curses could be heard in the lower deck, but Tony paid no attention to his comrades' complains. He was thinking about the commander of the _Flying Dutchman_.

Tony had heard many awful stories about the ghost ship in his life; first during the time he had served as a merchant sailor, and then when he had been forcefully recruited by Red Hand Pete after the pirate had pillaged his ship, _The Welsh Prince_. The tales shared by the men were very similar in their description of the _Flying Dutchman_ – a ship bearing ripened sails and covered with seaweed, shells and demon-faced sculptures –, its Captain – a creature half-man, half-sea beast, whose cruelty rivaled only with the Prince of Darkness' -, and its crew – distorted and deadly freaks of nature. Red Hand Pete had also told his crewmembers frightening tales about the _Dutchman_'s captain, just to drill inside their minds that they had to capture him quickly so he wouldn't be able to transform the _Conqueror_'s shipmates into sea-monsters with his supernatural powers.

When Tony had first seen Will at the lower gun deck, he had been certain that the young man was nothing but a hideous monster disguised behind an angelic appearance, who would rip little Andy's soul away before disappearing into the night. But then, Tony had seen Turner's compassionate eyes, he had heard his soft-spoken words of comfort before the trap door had opened under his feet…

How could Tony still believe in the words of his Captain, the one who had gravely wounded Andy in the first place to lure Turner to come aboard _The Conqueror_?

How could he still believe Turner wasn't a human being, considering the shouts of pain he had heard coming from the orlop deck for three days in a row?

How could Tony still believe that **he** was a human, after being the silent witness of abject torture sessions?

The old man sighed and turned his head so he would face the wooden walls of the lower deck. He didn't want his shipmates to see the tears running down on his wrinkled face.

TBC…


	9. An unpleasant meeting

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- The origins of Bill's diamonds are explained in my other POTC stories.

- "Serçe" means "_sparrow_" in Turkish.

- This chapter is dedicated to Telcontar Rulz, with my thanks!

* * *

**Chapter ****9: An unpleasant meeting**

True to his word, Captain Ammand the Corsair gave his orders for a prompt departure from Tortuga, once the supplies had been loaded in the _Seref_'s hold and the weaponry thoroughly checked. Due to the urgency of Bill Turner and Jack Sparrow's mission – and their promised payment - missing the rise of the tide was quite out of the question. But Ammand's men had worked diligently and without asking questions about this sudden change of pace. Nearly four hours after the parlay, the _Seref_ had left Tortuga's harbors and sailed for the south, barely giving Captain Jack Sparrow enough time to buy a few rum flagons from the Faithful Bride tavern for the trip, after learning that Captain Ammand didn't stock this kind of drink aboard his galley!

The _Seref_ was cruising on calm waters with the _Sparrow Hawk_ tied in tow; her streamlined hull and a strong trade wind in the three latin sails were giving her a good speed, making the use of oars quite unnecessary. However, a thick fog had fallen, adding a lugubrious mood to the ship's sudden departure. Since it was a natural visibility hazard, the fog would normally prevent any sailor to put out to sea but Ammand couldn't possibly care less about a few clouds hovering above the waters: he was on the way to gain both revenge and a fortune! Besides, Jack's compass was steadily indicating the direction so Ammand didn't have to worry about his ship going astray. But as a precaution, he had ordered that lanterns should be lightened at the prow and the stern, and also on the starboard and port sides of the galley, to avoid collision with other ships.

Dawn had broken a few hours ago, but the fog was too thick to be dissipated by the sun's rays of light. On the _Seref_'s upper deck, its sailors looked like mere shadows and the men were shivering slightly by the sudden change of temperature. Ammand looked at his guests and he could see that Jack was sitting on the deck with his back leaning on the starboard rail, steadily emptying rum flagons one after another, while Bootstrap Bill was scrutinizing the fog in the hopes to find something… or someone.

Frowning, Ammand left his command to Yusuf and approached his passengers: "How can you drink so early, Sparrow? Shouldn't you keep a clear mind to make a plan, if you're resolute to find your friend?"

"'Tis when I'm drunk that I think the best, mate!" answered Jack, his dark eyes getting unfocused under the influence. "As for the plan, no worries: it's a cinch! I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? I make plans all the time: morning, afternoon, evening, good plans, better plans, clever plans, fueled by this nectar worthy of the Olympian gods which has the double quality to sharpen my wits while keeping the chill out of my bones!"

Ammand rolled his eyes heavenwards at Jack's declaration, definitively renouncing to understand why some men would drink such a vile beverage as rum! Instead, he glanced at Bill and noticed that the man hadn't even acknowledged his presence, not out of disrespect but simply because he was lost in his thoughts, his eyes fixed on an invisible point. The Pirate Lord took a good look at the tall man's features, and for a moment he could have sworn he had met him before… or maybe Bill resembled to someone Ammand had seen in the past?

"Master Bootstrap?" asked the corsair quietly.

"Hunh?" answered the elder Turner, startled by the sound of this voice so close to him. "Oh, begging your pardon Captain Ammand, I haven't heard you coming."

"Indeed, you looked pretty deep in thoughts, Master Bootstrap. Are you worried about your missing friend?"

"_God, more than you can ever imagine, Captain Ammand!" _thought Bill. _"That "friend" is no one else but my son, the owner of my heart! But I cannot tell you this for the moment; Jack has been adamant about keeping Will's identity a secret as long as we could. If we had revealed in Tortuga that we were searching for the commander of the infamous Flying Dutchman, nobody would have agreed come with us. Davy Jones has left quite an evil memory and all the hard work Will has done for the past five years haven't been enough yet to erase it. That's why Jack and I have to keep you in the dark. I can't even use my real name, since Jack's alliances with Will are well-known and someone could make the connection between me and the young Captain Turner. I hate this deception, but we cannot waste time with the potential risk of a mutiny. You seem a reliable man, Captain Ammand, but can you vouch that your crew won't rebel after learning they will be fighting to free the captain of a ghost ship?"_

The strongly-built seaman shook his head, annoyed to have been caught unaware. Jack took a long swing from his rum flagon, but his suddenly more-attentive eyes never left Bill or Ammand.

"Aye, Captain," answered William Turner Sr. "And I'm also concerned about this fog: a man couldn't see his hands in front of his face with this weather!"

"What, you're afraid of collisions?" laughed Ammand. "That's a worry I can easily lift from your mind! I have sailed in worse conditions and my men know what they are doing. Besides, the chances of meeting another captain crazy enough to accept sailing through a fog are very low, consequently I can say we have the ocean all for ourselves, and…"

"SHIP TO STARBOARD!" suddenly yelled Bill, pointing to a huge mass that had been hidden by the heavy clouds.

Ammand's eyes widened open: the silhouette of an East Indiaman ship had appeared like a ghost, way too close of the _Seref_'s starboard side! That vessel was much taller than the galley and it could easily inflict heavy damages to the _Seref_. The Pirate Lord yelled orders in Turkish and Yusuf acted immediately, organizing a maneuver to avoid a collision. The helmsman turned sharply the wheel hard to port, giving the ship a sharp, left-sided movement and some of the sailors lost their footing in the process. Jack Sparrow protested loudly after the shock had made him drop his rum flagon; the bottle rolled wildly across the deck and he started crawling on all fours to retrieve his favorite drink but Bill's grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

"JACK!" shouted Bootstrap. "It's the _Black Pearl_!"

"What?"

Jack jumped back on his feet – largely helped by his friend's iron grip on his cervical vertebrae– and his eyes went huge: for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he wondered if he was actually suffering from a bout of delirium tremens! But the unmistakable shape of his beloved ship was indeed there; the _Black Pearl_ had been brought to and was standing still in the water, its dark hull and sails making a sharp contrast against the white fog. But if the _Seref_ had fallen on hard times, it was obvious that the _Black Pearl_ was a floating disaster. It seemed like pirating had definitively come to an end, as predicted by the late Lord Cutler Beckett!

The _Seref_'s dangerous pitching and rolling ended at last, thanks to the men's sailing expertise, but Captain Ammand was livid with rage. In a flow of Turkish words, he ordered his men to bring to the_ Seref_ as well, and then he grabbed a speaking tube to yell in the direction of the towering ship:

"SHIP AHOY! Captain Barbossa, you land-lubber! Can't you see where you're going?"

Some movement was spotted on the _Black Pearl_'s upper deck; at the same moment, Bill grabbed Jack's hand and, in a swift movement, the two men hid themselves behind the galley's mainmast, out of view of their most hated nemesis, Captain Hector Barbossa. It was the same sea-rat who, years ago, had mutinied against Jack Sparrow, marooning him on a desert island; soon afterwards, he had sentenced a cursed but immortal Bill Turner to an eternity of torment, tied to a cannon and thrown into the ocean's depths, in retaliation of Bill's loyalty to Jack.

In normal circumstances, Bill would have gladly settled accounts with Barbossa, who had also threatened Will and Elizabeth various times with death in his eagerness to lift the Aztec Gold curse off his head. But circumstances were far from normal: time was running out for Will, captive of Red Hand Pete, and his father wouldn't allow the search for him to be slowed down by past grudges. That's why he remained hidden behind the mainmast, one arm wrapped around Jack's smaller frame to make sure the former Captain of the _Black Pearl_ would keep quiet and stay focused on their mutual goal, instead of drawing out his sword to defy Barbossa in an ill-timed attempt to regain his ship.

Ammand had saw Bill and Jack shied away from the _Black Pearl_ as if it were a plague-ridden ship; he opened his mouth to ask what game they were playing, but Bill put a finger to his lips, silently asking for the Pirate Lord's discretion and cooperation. If Ammand was surprised by this reaction, he had enough good sense to say nothing and turned his attention back to the _Black Pearl_. The tall frame of Hector Barbossa, dressed with his usual dark costume and sporting his blue ostrich-feathered, wide-brimmed hat on his head, had appeared at the _Pearl_'s helm. His inevitable pet monkey was perched on his shoulder, screeching in the direction of the galley.

"Well, well!" thundered Barbossa, overhanging the _Seref_'s deck. "It seems Captain Ammand has graced me with a visit, lads!"

"Visiting you?" replied Ammand. "Not unless I loose my mind! And what are you doing here, standing in the middle of a fog without any lightened lanterns? Do you wish to get rammed?"

"Ah!" said Barbossa with contempt. "Who would dare to attack me?"

"A lot of people, actually, _deniz beceriksiz_ (clumsy sailor)!" answered the Turkish corsair. Yusuf translated his Captain's words for his crewmen who didn't understand enough English, thus making them laugh out loud aboard the _Seref_. Barbossa's face darkened, not appreciating Ammand's humor at all.

"I don't have to listen to this, Ammand. Besides, business hasn't been blooming for you, eh?"

"Look who's talking!" shot the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea back. "Your ship is in such a state, it's scandalous! You're a disgrace to piracy! Then again, you wouldn't be able to find a treasure even if you stumbled upon it!"

In the shadows of the mainmast, Jack snickered quietly: "Yeah, ol' Hector probably found a hole in his plan to find the Fountain of Youth and other treasures!"

"Anyway, I am not here to discuss with the imbecile who had the great idea to free Calypso from her human bounds and almost killed us all in the process," concluded Ammand. "You owe me restitution for your sailing through the fog without any lights on and nearly hitting my ship, but it doesn't seem you have two guineas to rub together, so what's the use?"

"Actually," snarled Barbossa, "I am standing here in this dreadful weather to exercise some discipline. Some of my men have been bothering me recently with their attitude, and I have decided to get rid of them. Enjoy the show!"

Barbossa turned around and shouted at his men: "THROW THEM OVERBOARD!"

There were shouts, protests, a struggle, and then the gesticulating bodies of two men, one compact-sized, the other one taller and followed by a blue-and-yellow-colored parrot, were thrown out of the _Black Pearl_ and fell into the deep, dark waters of the ocean with a loud splash. Jack took the risk to steal a glance from his hiding place, and his breath got caught in his throat after he had identified the two unfortunates.

"Marty? Cotton?" said Sparrow with an incredulous voice. But he barely had the time to recover from his surprise that two more men were also thrown overboard the _Black Pearl_: one looked like an emaciated scarecrow while the other one was shorter and balder.

"Pintel? Ragetti?" whispered Bootstrap Bill, recognizing the partners-in-crime before they disappeared under the surface.

Some more shouts, followed by laughs, rang out from the _Black Pearl_ and two more sailors were forced to walk the plank – without the use of a plank. This time, it were the ex-Royal Marines who had been put in charge to watch over the Dead Man's Chest aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, just before the maelstrom battle; but they were so stupid that a few fine words from Captain Jack Sparrow had spread the most complete confusion into their tiny brains, giving him the opportunity to steal the chest way before the idea of shooting him ever came to the soldiers' minds.

"Murtogg and Mullroy! Well, I'll be!" said Jack.

Barbossa shouted in the direction of the _Seref_: "That was a work well done, wasn't it? You can fish them out and sell them as slaves in Turkey, Captain Ammand, if you still want compensation! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some pillaging to do; of course, that's a job you can hardly handle with that skiff of yours!"

For a moment, Ammand considered shooting at Barbossa just for the principle of it. But a cough coming from the mainmast's shadow caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Bill making a negative motion with his hand. The corsair didn't like to be asked to renounce from a potential fight with one of his best enemies, but Bootstrap's pleading expression melted away his anger. Ammand contented himself by vociferating a few chosen words in his mother tongue which made his men burst out in laughter again. Slowly, following Barbossa's orders, the _Black Pearl _turned around to disappear in the fog, leaving the condemned men paddling in the waters. Only when the East Indiaman ship had vanished did Bill and Jack come out from their shadowy retreat.

"The Devil take Barbossa!" barked Ammand.

"My sentiment, exactly," answered Jack.

"Why did you hide from him, then?" asked the corsair. "You acted like a horse terrified by a rabid puppy!"

"We couldn't waste time arguing with that petty piece of refuse!" shot Jack, taking another swing at the rum flagon he'd managed to pick up from the deck. "Do I have to remind you the matter at hand? As much as I'd like to pummel Barbossa to the wooden planks of my ship's deck, now isn't the time or the place to do so: **«****All things come to those who wait»**! Barbossa lives on borrowed time, and the glorious day of my reinsertion as commander of the _Black Pearl_ will come so fast it'd make his head spin. So, Captain Ammand, could we follow our route?"

Yells were heard from the water, and Yusuf leaned over the rail to take a peek at what was happening below.

"Captain, the men Barbossa had thrown from his ship are swimming towards us. From what I can understand, they want to come aboard. Should I throw lifelines?"

"Er, on the other hand, Ammand," said Jack while caressing distractedly his braided goatee, "maybe it would be a good idea if we stopped for a moment and rescued these poor victims of Barbossa's notorious incompetence over handling a crew without resorting to physical violence."

Ammand opened his mouth, getting ready to say he wouldn't even waste a minute of his time fishing out those morons, but a wink from Jack and a diamond discreetly shining in Bill's palm made him quickly change his mind. After the necessary orders had been shouted and followed, six soaked-to-the-bone and shabby pirates were brought upon the Seref's deck, all of them looking at the Turkish men who were surrounding them, laughing at the strange "catch" they just have brought upon the galley. Then, the parrot croaked from Cotton's shoulder: _"Aack! Captain Sparrow!"_

The six exiled spun around and their eyes went wide at the sight of their twice-mutinied upon commander, standing nonchalantly alongside the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea. Bill had retreated in the shadows again, unsure about making his presence acknowledged to the rescued: he didn't know the dwarf, the man with the parrot or the other twos, but Pintel and Ragetti had been of Barbossa's accomplices and the elder Turner didn't have very good memories of the dim-witted duo.

"Well, mates, you look pretty drenched and wretched," said Jack, staggering more than ever. "Looks like treason doesn't pay, aye?"

"Treason? But we didn't betray you, Captain Sparrow!" protested Marty, the short pirate. "We went for a night of drink and carouse in Tortuga after the maelstrom battle, remember? Well, after that night Cotton and I woke up in our hammocks at the lower deck and both you and Mister Gibbs were gone. The _Pearl_ was in the open sea and Barbossa giving orders from the helm, so what could we have done?"

"Aye, we did feel bad about leavin' without you," said Ragetti, his declaration earning him a hard slap on the arm by his acolyte.

"What he meant is, we did tell Captain Barbossa we didn't approve of his decision about leavin' you and Mister Gibbs in Tortuga," corrected Pintel while smiling nervously, showing a beautiful display of rotten teeth. "So he bought his way out by promising us we would find treasures, only you had cut out the best part of that map, and things went quickly downhill after that."

"Downhill?" asked Mullroy, "But we haven't stepped foot on a hill for years!"

"It's just an expression, you imbecile!" snapped Pintel. "Can't you keep quiet for a change?"

"You have spare change?" asked Murtogg. "Then maybe you could pay the money you owe me…"

"Murtogg, shut your mouth!" interfered Ragetti. "Respect your betters, sailor!"

"You are better than him? That's the best one yet!" growled Pintel.

"MATES!" interrupted Marty, getting worried at the sight of Captain Ammand getting impatient by the minute, "Anyway, Captain Sparrow, the whole lot of us hadn't been very happy about Barbossa's deviousness, and as you could see things haven't improved much in five years. We have pillaged ships that weren't worth the cost of the cannonballs we fired at them, we came very close to get thrown in jail fifty times or so, we couldn't make port anywhere and our living conditions became terrible – even for pirates! Tempers rose among us, but the men were too frightened of the Captain; it was even say his monkey was telling on us! Finally, Cotton and I got kicked out because we openly criticized Barbossa; Pintel and Ragetti, because their constant bickering was getting on his nerves; and Murtogg and Mullroy because they are too clumsy!

At the same moment, Cotton's parrot flapped his wings in the air as if to dry them, and then the bird said with a whistle: _"Barbossa's an old goat!"_

Jack burst out laughing: that animal had a keen sense of observation! At the sight of his hilarity, the ex-shipmates of the _Black Pearl_ stated laughing too between their chattering teeth, but then Ammand's voice rang out:

"_Bu kadar yeter_ (enough of this)! Captain Sparrow, would you care telling me what you plan to do with them?"

"Why, Captain Ammand, it is quite evident those men have jumped ship out of their enthusiasm to serve under my command," said Jack. "Consequently, they are the recently-hired crewmembers of _The_ _Sparrow Hawk_! But in the meantime, since we are sailing aboard your ship for an expedition, they will serve under your orders since you have exclusive authority aboard the _Seref_, until the said expedition is complete and we will go our separate ways."

"What?" snarled the corsair, "But how can I employ such a bunch of idiots?"

"Give them a little credit, Ammand! Marty and Cotton are good fighters; for all their blabbering, Pintel and Ragetti know their stuff as gunners. As for the last twos… well, you don't need brains to mop the deck, do you?"

Ammand was literally fuming and if not for Bill's promise of a bagful of diamonds, he would have gladly thrown the former men of the _Black Pearl _back to the ocean, among with their self-proclaimed rightful captain! First he had been asked to give up a fight with Hector Barbossa; now, he had to accept aboard his ship a half-dozen of argument-prone pirates! But the corsair had promised Jack and Bootstrap his help in finding Red Hand Pete, and Ammand had never backed down on his word in his life. With a heavy heart, he finally relented and gave Yusuf the orders to show to the new recruits their future sleeping quarters, but Pintel suddenly asked Jack:

"What about Barbossa, Captain? Are we goin' to attack him?"

"Not today, belligerent homunculus! Let dear Hector enjoy his peace and freedom for the time being since I, Captain Jack Sparrow, am very determined to regain soon my lawfully command of the _Black Pearl_ and to save her from the lamentable state she is currently suffering from the actions of her usurping, ignorant, inapt, worthless and all-around fake officer parading at her helm. In the meantime, you lot obey Captain Ammand."

"But…" started Ragetti, just before the thin pirate paled while looking at something standing behind Jack's shoulder. Sparrow turned around and saw that Bootstrap Bill Turner had left the shadows to walk towards them.

"It's the ghost of Bootstrap Bill, coming back to haunt us!" whispered Ragetti to Pintel.

But the elder Turner just stood right in front of Barbossa's men and said, in a non-nonsense tone:

"You obey Captain Ammand's orders and you keep your mouth shut!"

The six newcomers immediately quieted down and, with these final words, the strongly-built man calmly walked away from the crowd, returning to his place on the galley's starboard to resume his lonely vigil, looking intensely at the fog still covering the waters. Ammand pointed to Bill and asked Jack a silent question, but the rum-addicted man simply said with a silly grin, his dark eyes darting in every direction: "Still waters run deep, savvy?"

The Turkish corsair wasn't satisfied with Jack's cryptic answer, but he thought better than pressing the matter and told Yusuf to carry on with his orders. The men obeyed at once, but Ammand remained rooted on the spot, his gaze fixed on the silhouette of Bootstrap Bill. He was more than aware that Jack had been very scarce about the reasons why they were pursuing Red Hand Pete, but it didn't seemed important at the time they had concluded their deal. But it appeared that Master Bootstrap wasn't only a silent, walking money-bag; he had enough authority within to make people obey him, like a First Mate!

"_A First Mate__… Keeping a fortune in diamonds in his pockets… And so desperate to find someone kidnapped by Red Hand Pete that he even recruited Captain "_Serçe"_ to help him!"_

The _Seref_ continued its route, the fog slowly lifting from the enormous and compact mass of salty water, while its Captain kept a watchful eye on Master Bootstrap and Captain Jack Sparrow.

* * *

In the early hours of the night, the _Seref'_s lookout finally called out to say a ship had been spotted.

Ammand immediately ordered that the lamps signaling the galley's position to be put out, and that the men should move as quietly as possible: by night on the water, every single noise could be heard from a long distance, and the Turkish corsair wanted to remain invisible for the time being. Bill had a hard time to control himself when he looked at the ship's silhouette through Ammand's spyglass: the image wasn't very neat due to the lack of light, but he was sure they had spotted the _Conqueror_. He'd recognize that brig anywhere; its image had been engraved in his brains with a red-hot brand!

"That's him, Jack. That's the _Conqueror_, the ship where Will had been tricked to climb on."

"Awright!" answered Jack with that slurred voice of his. "First things first, an exploration of the enemy's grounds is in order. We need a man with vast intelligence and endless courage to conduct an investigation aboard this brig, gather information, sneaking past the watchmen and come back aboard the _Seref_ to make a report. I nominate me!"

"What?" exclaimed Bill, "I thought I'd come along with you!"

"No can do, Bill! As much as I'd love to have you with me, this kind of investigation is best handled by a single person. We know next to nothing about the reasons why Red Hand Pete has kidnapped William and what are his next planned moves. That's the vital information we need to carry on with my plan. Besides, can you swear to me you'd remain calm while infiltrating the _Conqueror_? That you won't loose your mind and slaughter everyone on sight, which would inevitably end up in someone raising the alarm and drawing unwanted attention on our persons?"

"Then why don't we open fire on the _Conqueror_ at once?" argued the elder Turner, but he already knew the answer: boarding a ship was already a dangerous affair, but attacking it in the dark was plain suicide!

"I'd probably do it if we were aboard the _Black Pearl_, but quite unfortunately we're not! This ship belongs to Ammand, and he has the final say about the use of his guns. And we can't shoot blindly a volley of cannonballs at the _Conqueror_: we could hurt William! Bill, if we are to retrieve him, we must use ruse instead of brute force. Trust me!"

Jack briefly shook Bill's hand, and then he explained briefly to Ammand his intentions. Soon afterwards, he jumped aboard his dinghy the _Sparrow Hawk_, untied it from the _Seref_'s helm, and sailed quietly in the night, heading for the _Conqueror_. The dinghy was in poor shape, but it would be enough to sail on calm waters, its low helm and dirty sail would make Jack benefit from the protection of the night. Slowly and steadily, Jack approached the brig's stern, which was decorated with the Great Cabin's windows, a walkway, and elaborate sculptures. Trust Red Hand Pete to command a ship with such a display of vanities at the rear! And, on top of everything else, the windows hadn't been cleaned in years: this stern was the perfect place to secure a tiny spying boat, out of sight of eventual prying eyes!

The scruffiest pirate of the Caribbean tied up his dinghy to the ankle of a statue representing a mean-looking Poseidon holding a trident, made a face at the wood-carved Greek god, and then he swiftly climbed on the brig's stern, using the decorations as footholds. Minutes later, Jack swung his legs above the _Conqueror_'s rail and landed soundlessly on its deck, silent like a cat.

At first glance, there was nothing unusual aboard: the main deck was deserted, apart from the helmsman who hadn't heard Jack coming, and two men on night watch duty, who were discussing in a low voice, looking thoroughly tired and disgusted, thus increasing their inattentiveness. Silence reigned on the _Conqueror_ and Jack moved quickly, using the various crates and barrels for hiding places as he continued his progression. So far, so good, but he had to find a way to reach the hatch leading downstairs to continue his quest. But all of a sudden, loud voices were heard from astern: Jack Sparrow had barely the time to crouch behind the Conqueror's mainmast before the Great Cabin's door was violently opened and a Chinaman got thrown out of the Captain's quarters to land in a crumpled heap on the main deck.

"_Oh-oh!" _thought Jack,_ "Looks like throwing people around is all the rage among pirate captains, those days!"_ He noticed that the two watchmen had prudently faded in the background and the helmsman was crouching behind the ship's wheel, wanting no part of the upcoming fight.

"YOU'RE NOTHING BUT AN IMBECILE, LONG!" yelled a furious voice, and the tall, lanky silhouette of a blond-haired man appeared against the Great Cabin's lights.

"But, Master…" pleaded Long while trying to get back on his feet.

"A PERFECT IMBECILE!" roared the tall man again, just before kicking the Chinese in the ribs, making the man double over in pain on the wooden planks.

Sparrow's mouth suddenly went dry as he realized who the brutish commander was: Red Hand Pete, Will's abductor and Ammand's personal enemy, the one Jack had been racking his brains recently to find a way to learn about his plans. Talk of the Devil and he will appear. Gosh, did Jack ever need a drink of rum in his life!

"Four days and three nights of torture in a row, and still you haven't been able to make Turner talk! Your so-called infallible and ancestral ways of interrogation are nothing but a sham, Mister Long," said Red Hand Pete scathingly, looking at the cowering man. "We are wasting precious time, and I rue the day I've ever listened to you!"

"P-please, Master!" pleaded Long from his kneeling position. "If you'd allow me to question Turner again tonight, I am sure I'll be able to…"

"NO!" roared the captain again, "My men haven't slept for three nights and they are openly talking about mutiny! No more tortures for now; I cannot command a ship with men who would slit my throat just to get some rest! Since you have obviously failed, I need to find a better way to make Turner talk and tell me where the Dead Man's Chest is! I should be pillaging ships by now, protected by immortality, but instead I am stuck here with incapables and a slimy worm like yourself!"

Jack was unable to believe his own ears: Red Hand Pete was after the Dead Man's Chest? That was the treasure the shark was coveting? And he had ordered that man, Long, to torture Will to make him reveal where the chest was?

His heart slammed against his throat at the thought of Will – loyal, courageous William – suffering unspeakable torments at the hand of those slugs. Jack knew Will would rather die than endanger his dear wife Elizabeth – but he didn't have that option anymore, thanks to his immortal and cursed state, so time was on Red Hand Pete's side: he could martyr the young man for days… weeks… months… until he went mad and confess that the Dead Man's Chest was in Lizzie's guardianship. And yet, Jack felt a surge of pride rushing through his body: so far, William had resisted telling the location of the chest, highly irritating his captors in the process. The kid had a backbone made of steel, for sure. He was the worthy little brother of Captain Jack Sparrow!

"You'll spend the night on the deck, Mister Shiao Long, and think about your incompetence. Maybe the night's chills will clear your tiny brains!" concluded Red Hand Pete by grabbing the Chinese by the throat and tossing him around again. This time, Long's face hit the mainmast fully – missing Jack's head by a few inches – and promptly passed out from the impact, his broken nose bleeding abundantly. In spite of the dim light, Jack noticed the black dragon tattooed on the right side of the unconscious man's neck. The Great Cabin's door slammed behind Red Hand Pete and the deck returned to its quiet state. The two watchmen turned their indifferent backs on Long, and the helmsman acted as if nothing had occurred.

Jack Sparrow's mind was racing furiously: learning Pete's motive had given him the necessary light to make his plan come to fruition. So, the lanky blond shark wanted the Dead Man's Chest to gain immortality, and thus gaining full powers to plunder ships without any risks of being captured or killed. Red Hand Pete was a Davy Jones-wannabe, crossed with a Lord Beckett-like greed, and he would quickly become the nightmare of every sailor who would have the misfortune to cross path with him. Heck, with an immortal gold-thirsty on the loose, nobody would be safe at sea, not even pirates! Pete would kill everyone on sight to gain riches, and no one, not even Calypso, would be able to stop him!

"_No one, except me!" _thought Jack. _"I am the world-famous Captain Jack Sparrow, I can do anything! Now, let's see… Pete distrusts his own men and he is at odds with his torturer, since making William talk is a dead-end for now. He's impatient and greedy, prone to anger, a combination that makes him dangerous but also weakens him. Pete needs an ally, someone who thinks like him, who has the same ruthless ambitions, a man who is the living reflection of his vanity. But that someone must have an ace up on his sleeve… like a supernatural item, which could lead a supernatural prisoner to "betray" himself…"_

The former captain of the _Black Pearl_ smiled in the darkness: his perfect plan was made. Within two days, William would be freed and Red Hand Pete would be vanquished forever, along with his minions, and all this by the genius of the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow!

But for his plan to succeed, he had to leave Will behind for the moment… _**his**_ William, who was suffering and bleeding, probably held in the lower decks of the _Conqueror_. And Jack couldn't do anything for now: he didn't know the exact location of Will's geol, how many men were guarding him and what kind of shackles Red Hand Pete was using to prevent Will from escaping. The action of running alone through the maze of the brig's lower decks to find Will, armed with only a pistol and a sword while enemies were lurking at every corner wouldn't be heroic, but plain stupid!

Jack sighed quietly, but his eyes hardened like jet stones when he looked at Long, still lying unconscious at the bottom of the mainmast.

"_You__'ll soon learn it doesn't pay to mess with Captain Jack Sparrow's brother, fella!" _thought Jack, and he slipped in the darkness, heading for the Part A of his plan: the _Conqueror_'s binnacle.

TBC…


	10. Heartaches

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- To Sonjadore: thank you very much for your kind words! :0)

- Reminder: "Serçe" means _"sparrow"_ in Turkish.

- Details about binnacles come from Wikipedia.

- The name of "John Silver" is a reference to the novel _"Treasure Island"_ by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

* * *

**Chapter ****10: Heartaches**

Aboard the _Seref_, still silent and invisible in the night, Ammand was looking through his spyglass at the _Conqueror_, still sailing at low speed on the calm dark waters. The Pirate Lord of the Black Sea had half-expected a riot to occur on the enemy ship as soon as Captain Jack Sparrow would have stepped foot on it, but amazingly it hadn't happened! The _Conqueror_ was quiet like a tomb, which could only mean two things: either Sparrow had been captured in a blink of an eye, either he had been successful in his spying mission.

Ammand collapsed the spyglass and shook his head: who would have thought that he, Captain Ammand the corsair, would team up with "dinghy-commander" Jack Sparrow to finally get his revenge against Red Hand Pete? It had been so many years since that bad business in Istambul that Ammand had almost lost all hope to make Pete pay his blood debt. And then, out of the blue, the world's best silver-talking pirate had offered him enough money to settle his accounts with his worst enemy, for the price of a ride for him and his associate!

"_Sabreden derviş muradina ermiş _(all things come to those who wait)", said Ammand out loud, quoting Jack's earlier words.

Patience had finally been fruitful, and the Turkish corsair couldn't complain about his deal with Sparrow: he had been handsomely paid for his services and that crazy-working compass had led them right to the _Conqueror_, meaning it wasn't a complete piece of junk after all. Even if the impromptu arrival of Barbossa's former men had made Ammand grumble for a while, the six sailors had quickly obeyed Master Bootstrap's orders and had retired for the night at the lower deck, as discreetly as possible.

The corsair wasn't naïve enough to imagine Jack had been completely straight-forward about his reasons to pursuit the _Conqueror_. He knew the former captain of the _Black Pearl_ wasn't prone to vengeance or violent conflicts, so Ammand had to admit Jack had been telling the truth about his kidnapped friend. That kind of cowardly action was just like this fiendish Red Hand Pete! But Jack was also broke, and no pirate worth his salt would miss an occasion to get his hands on some kind of booty to have his ship repaired and glamorize his reputation. Did Jack expected some kind of reward in rescuing Pete's prisoner? Maybe Bootstrap Bill had promised him a share of his diamonds, as well.

Ammand focused his attention on the tall, broad-shouldered man who was leaning on the galley's rail, watching intensively the brig. Master Bootstrap… now, this man was a complete mystery. He had already given him two magnificent diamonds: one for the trip, on condition to leave anchor at once; one for accepting the six rogues expelled by Barbossa, in order to not waste time in their search for Red Hand Pete. Of course the Laws of the Sea were adamant about that point: all man found in the water had to be fished out; otherwise it would bring terrible bad luck and sailors were a very superstitious lot. But Ammand couldn't help but think that Master Bootstrap must had a good reason to spend his fortune in hiring a pirate ship, and then paying for the passage of six ragged scoundrels… a _**very**_ good reason.

And that strange name, "Bootstrap Bill"… Ammand knew by experience that "Bill" was a nickname for "William", but what do bootstraps had to do with this man? Did he pride his footwear so much he mentioned it every time he presented himself?

The Pirate Lord came closer to his guest; the elder Turner was lost in his thoughts again and Ammand looked attentively at the big man's features. It was weathered and tired, with a faded scar running from his left temple to disappear under his jaw – _"Probably due to a sword's blade"_, thought the corsair – and his long gray hair was falling in disarray from his bandana. At first glance, Master Bootstrap resembled more to an unkempt, worn-out sailor than a pirate getting ready for action. Except for the eyes… those remarkable clear blue eyes, which constantly changed: they could shine from a burning fire within, or become dull as if an emotion was clouding them. But was it anger, impatience, or worry?

Well it could be all of them, but Ammand sensed that something tragic was also troubling Master Bootstrap. And the corsair's nagging feeling about the big man came back, stronger than before: he was now sure he had seen him in the past, or at least in someone who bore a great likeness to this man. However, Ammand didn't feel any kind of danger coming from Bootstrap Bill so he decided to engage in conversation with him.

"A guinea for your thoughts, Master Bootstrap?" said the Turkish Pirate Lord.

"What? Oh, begging your pardon, Captain Ammand! I haven't heard you coming… again. I'm sorry!"

"No apologies necessary, Master Bootstrap; I'd have a lot of my mind, too, if I've trusted Captain _"Serçe"_ to climb aboard an enemy ship to find information about Red Hand Pete!"

"Jack wouldn't betray us, I'm sure of this! You can count on him," said immediately Bill Turner, and Ammand had a small smile at this display of trust.

"I don't doubt Sparrow's loyalty to us for the moment," said Ammand. "After all, he seems to have taken an interest in finding Pete's prisoner, as well as in your gems! I'm more worried about his ability to sneak around the _Conqueror_ without raising his usual ruckus, since I'd hate to have to fight Red Hand Pete at night: that snake could disappear in the darkness and we'd waste more time."

Bill shook his head: "Jack can be circumspect when needed, and he wouldn't compromise his safety or his plans. He had gotten out of situations which were much worse than this one. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

Ammand let the matter drop for the moment, but he had gained an important piece of information: Master Bootstrap and Jack Sparrow had known each other for a long time, and the burly-shaped man trusted the bird-named captain unconditionally. That was kind of surprising, since Sparrow had been overthrown twice from his command by his own crewmembers!

"Master Bootstrap?"

"Aye, Captain?"

"What did Jack tell you, about that double-crosser Red Hand Pete did in Istanbul?"

Bill looked embarrassed: "Actually, Captain Ammand, Jack told me nothing about it. I've learned about it only when he mentioned this affair in your cabin, before concluding our deal."

"_Why doesn't that surprise me?"_ grumbled inwardly the corsair. His gaunt face hardened at the recollection of unpleasant souvenirs, and for a moment Bill thought Captain Ammand would loose control of his nerves and order his First Mate to open fire on the _Conqueror_ at once, regardless of Jack's presence aboard.

"I had planned a raid on a huge vessel full of riches, anchored in Istanbul's harbors. The ship was loaded with gold and silver bars, destined to the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire's treasure, and I had decided to grab the whole booty. In a foolish moment I trusted a rogue, Red Hand Pete, who had gained quite a reputation in the Mediterranean after his successes against Captain Eduardo Villanueva, Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea. Since Villanueva and I have crossed blades more than once, I thought it intelligent to associate myself with Pete to steal the riches. He seemed reliable, he knew how to handle his men and he had a good ship: our association turned out to be the biggest mistake of my career!"

"What happened?"

"Red Hand Pete betrayed me to the authorities. The night we invaded the vessel, a whole battalion of Janissaries were waiting for us in the hold, where the treasures were stocked. Gunfire erupted, swords were drawn, and within that exiguous space it soon turned into mass butchery. I was grievously wounded in the fight and I barely escaped with my life by jumping overboard along with Yusuf and two others; the rest of my men hadn't been so lucky. They got killed or, even worse, captured. The Sultan rewarded Red Hand Pete very generously for "warning" him about our planned attack and decided to make an example against piracy with the prisoners. The punishments were… horrible. But that wasn't the worst yet: among the captured men was my first cousin, Sami, a lad of twenty years of age and I couldn't do anything for him, since I was wounded and in hiding. Months afterwards, I've recovered enough to tell my uncle and aunt the news about Sami… They held me responsible for the boy's death and cursed my name," finished the Turkish corsair, his grainy voice barely containing his rage.

"I am so sorry, Captain Ammand!" exclaimed Bill Turner. "I haven't realized the depths of Red Hand Pete's treachery towards you. Please accept my sincere condolences for the death of your cousin."

Ammand blinked at those words: Master Bootstrap was full of surprises! Not only he was a loyal partner to Jack Sparrow, his pockets were full of first-class gems and he had authority like a seasoned First Mate, but on top of everything else, he was compassionate and polite!

"_What in the world kind of a pirate are you, Master Bootstrap?"_ thought the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea. _"What events happened for you to bear the same gaze as my uncle, with eyes revealing your pain and melancholy? Is Red Hand Pete also responsible for the loss of one of your loved one? Have you lost… a child?"_

But before Ammand could ask another question, Bill Turner suddenly straightened up: "Jack's coming back!"

The corsair couldn't see anything in the ink-like sea and sky, so he took out his telescope and strained it on the _Conqueror_. After a few adjustments, he could see Sparrow in his dinghy, heading for the galley with a morose expression on his face.

"_Whatever _"Serçe"_ has learnt, it cannot be good"_, thought Ammand, and he worryingly looked at the strong silhouette of Bootstrap Bill.

* * *

"**I'LL KILL RED HAND PETE! I'LL KILL HIM, I SWEAR!"** howled the elder Turner while lashing out at the elaborate decorations inside the _Seref_'s Great Cabin, which flew in every direction.

The three men had locked themselves within the captain's private quarters and Jack had began his report about what he had heard and seen aboard the _Conqueror_; but as soon as he had learnt about the tortured prisoner, Bootstrap Bill had thrown a fit and the big man was quite impressive in his raging state! Ammand was seriously considering drawing his sword from his scabbard for protection, while Sparrow tried his best to calm down his partner.

"BILL! Will you please listen to me!" pleaded Jack. "I'm telling you, my plan will allow us to deliver him in the next two days from now…"

"TWO DAYS?! That's far too LONG!" yelled Bill at the top of his lungs. "I won't allow those bastards to touch him for another minute! I'm going aboard the _Conqueror_ right now!"

"Bill, you can't be serious! Stick to the plan, mate, you have my personal guarantee it will work out for the better and…"

"TO HELL WITH YOUR PLAN! I won't wait, I'm going right now!"

Bootstrap Bill turned around to reach for the cabin's door, but Jack jumped on his back in an effort to restrain him and got a free piggyback ride for his troubles. If not for the situation, it would have been a funny sight to see lightweight Jack Sparrow trying to stop a man much taller and stronger than him: it was like watching a monkey trying to stop a whale! But nothing in this life could stop Captain Jack Sparrow from talking, so he kept on trying to placate his large friend while bumping against the cabin's low ceiling:

"BILL, calm down! Anger is an unwise advisor! Attacking the _Conqueror_ on your own would only end in disaster and then our mutual friend would be in even more peril since Red Hand Pete could use you as leverage and…"

"GET OFF MY BACK, SPARROW!" roared Bill Turner.

"Literally or figuratively?" asked Jack with an innocent-sounding voice, but Bootstrap Bill wasn't in the mood to appreciate this attempt of humor. Growling like a mad dragon, he grabbed Sparrow and snatched him off his shoulders to throw him on a nearby chair like a rag doll; Jack protested loudly against the rough treatment, but his actions left Ammand enough time to whack Bill over the head with a bronze candlestick. The big man collapsed on the floor with a thud, moaning and holding his head which had been struck twice in a week's length of time.

"You alright, _Serçe_?" asked Ammand, a bit out of breath.

"Aye, I'm right as rain; thank you for your efficient yet forceful initiative!" said Jack while straightening his bandana and tricorn hat.

Some frantic sounds were heard outside the Great Cabin; a violent pounding resounded against the door while a man asked a torrent of questions in Turkish. Ammand sighed, and then said to Jack:

"It's Yusuf. He wants to know what is happening. What should I tell him?"

"Well, just say to your men that we've had a short argument about the price of your participation, and you've won the upper hand," answered Jack while gesturing to the crumpled form of Bootstrap Bill who was slowly regaining his senses. "It won't surprise your men in the latest. After all, quarrelling over money is the pirates' favorite pastime, isn't it?"

Ammand grunted before opening the door: indeed, it was Yusuf who had been doing the pounding and some other crewmembers had gathered behind him, weapons in hands. The Pirate Lord thanked them in his mother tongue for their loyalty and their concern, assured that everything was under control, and then repeated the consign of silence prevailing aboard the _Seref_ in avoid being spotted by the _Conqueror_. Yusuf and the others retired, looking unconvinced but respectful of their Captain's orders. Meanwhile, Jack helped Bill Turner to sit on a couch and tried to find something to soothe the older man's hurting skull.

"Ammand, by any chance, you don't happen to have some extra rum, do you?"

"You know damn well I don't indulge in this kind of drink, Sparrow, and you've already swallowed the whole lot you've bought before leaving Tortuga! But if your partner is getting better, there are some tea left on the table which could help to clear his mind."

Jack inwardly sympathized with Bill, but it wasn't the appropriate time to test the corsair's patience. A glassful of tea was shoved into the elder Turner's hand, and he drank it without protests while cradling his aching head. Fortunately, the impact had been much less violent than the falling yard-arm so after a few minutes, Bill had regained enough of his senses to say in a contrite voice:

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"Well, you should be, Turner!" shot Sparrow back, sounding indignant. "Why should I tire my magnificent brains to produce failure-proof plans if you rush right into the lion's den to get massacred? How do you think your death would help? Not to mention how our "friend" would react at the news of your demise after he'd be freed from Red Hand Pete's clutches! Bill, I quite understand your feelings – believe me or not, it was extremely hard to leave the _Conqueror_'s board while knowing that he is in such a predicament. But if we attack blindly, it would provide Pete and his nasty little pal from China enough time to mutilate the captive: they could gouge his eyes out, or cut off his ears, his hands, or… or something else, if you get my meaning! We have no idea if he still has the ability to heal. How could we live with ourselves afterwards, knowing that this tragedy could have been avoided if we had kept a cool mind under pressure? And how would you feel at the sight of him maimed for life, and…"

"All right, you've made your point!" groaned Bill, who was getting a splitting headache from Ammand's intervention and Jack's tirade.

Silence reigned for a while inside the _Seref_'s Great Cabin, and then the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea's voice asked: "Turner… Your name is Turner?"

The older man blanched and Jack bit his lower lip as he realized with a start that he had blurted out Bootstrap's last name when scolding him about loosing his mind out of worry. Well, it served Jack right: he hadn't been very smart a few minutes ago, either. Talk about making a superb goof! Surely, the lack of rum must have somehow fried his legendary intellect. Ammand was far from a fool and he wouldn't buy Captain Jack Sparrow's fine words any longer… if he ever did in the first place, that is!

"_Note to self: never embark in an adventure again without sufficient stock of rum,"_ thought Jack but before he could find an explanation about his mouth being quicker than his brains, Bill answered with a sigh:

"Aye, I am William Turner, Senior."

Ammand's bushy eyebrows were tightly knotted above his piercing brown gaze, which was locked upon his two guests; he hadn't moved an inch, but Jack was getting increasingly worried because he knew that beneath this well-groomed and well-dressed appearance, the corsair usually preferred violence over negotiations: how would he react, after learning the real identity of Red Hand Pete's prisoner and how he had been kept purposely kept in the dark about it?

"All right, _Serçe_, out with it. The truth, right now!" growled Ammand. "And none of those insane talks of yours, otherwise I call off the deal and the two of you will find yourself aboard your dinghy, along with the six idiots and the parrot, and you'll attack Red Hand Pete with your bare hands for all I care. Understood?"

"I haven't lied to you!" protested Jack vehemently. "Bill and I are truly chasing Red Hand Pete because he did kidnap someone who is precious to both of us. That person had been snatched a few days ago and until this night, we didn't have a clue what were Pete's motives about that abduction. It happens the double-crosser wants to know the location of something most dangerous that our "friend" knows, and he had kept silence about it for the moment, but…"

"**MY SON!" **said Bill loudly.

Jack and Ammand jumped slightly at the interruption, but the older man just added in a miserable tone: "Red Hand Pete has kidnapped my son, Captain Turner."

The Turkish Pirate Lord's eyes widened as realization came to his mind: Master Bootstrap's face… Now he knew where and when he had seen it: right after the maelstrom battle! Ammand and his crewmembers hadn't been able to participate in the whirlpool fight, but he had witnessed the destruction of Lord Beckett and his ship by a hail of cannonballs fired by the _Black Pearl _and the _Flying Dutchman_…. All the Pirate Brethren had yelled loudly at the sight of their fallen enemy and the East India Trading Company's armada fleeing from the scene! Ammand had even done a little victory dance aboard his galley, out of joy!

The pirates had praised the _Black Pearl_ and the ghost ship, which was freed of Davy Jones at least. All of them had cheered for Barbossa, Jack Sparrow, Pirate King Swann… and for Captain Turner, the new commander of the _Flying Dutchman_. Ammand had barely had the time to get a glimpse at the hero – a twenty-something lad with dark hair and clothes, who had been calmly talking to a tall sailor dressed in rags – through his spyglass, before the _Seref_ had retreated for calmer waters. Ammand had never forgotten the young man's angelic features…

… And now he was staring at an older and broader version of that face! Master Bootstrap was indeed bearing an extraordinary resemblance to Captain Turner and with the confession of his blood ties… It explained everything, from his need to find the _Conqueror_ and his willingness to pay in diamonds as if they had no more value than mere pebbles, to his association with Captain Jack Sparrow, running mouth but clever mind when it came to make escape plans!

"Your son… He's the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, isn't he?" asked Ammand.

Bill, still seated on the couch, simply nodded; he was too worried about Will to tell a lie.

"His first name is also William, Master Bootstrap?"

"Aye, Captain Ammand. I am sorry about this dissimulation, but… we didn't have any choice. We needed a ship and men determined enough to go after Red Hand Pete; but we also knew that the _Flying Dutchman_'s reputation is still frightful to sailors, even if Will has worked very hard for five years to undo Davy Jones' terrible wrongs. We couldn't be slowed by the fears of your crewmembers, or waste time trying to convince them that rescuing my son won't press-gang them into service aboard the _Dutchman_ for a hundred years. Although I cannot blame your men to be afraid of our ship's reputation, but I give you my word that William would never enslave anyone."

"Besides, Ammand," added Jack while tramping up and down the Great Cabin's floor, "It doesn't really matter to your men who Bill and I are rescuing. As far as they're concerned, we're on a raid that doesn't include fighting walking skeletons, fish-faced people or the East India Trading Company lackeys; which is quite a relief, come to think of it! All your men will have to do is fire at very ordinary would-be pirates, send Red Hand Pete and his ship to the depths and share a large booty of diamonds, courtesy of Bootstrap Bill. So why should we bother telling them the identity of Red Hand Pete's prisoner?"

"What about you, _Serçe_?" asked the Turkish pirate. "Are you actually telling me that you're willing to endanger your life to free Captain Turner?"

"As a matter of fact, I do! I embarked on that quest out of the debt I own to Bootstrap Bill; he's the only member of my crew who didn't betray me in favor of Hector Barbossa years ago, and he paid a very high price for his loyalty: years of enslavement under Davy Jones' tyranny. And I consider young Will Turner as a close friend; in fact, he's one of the very few friends I've ever made in my life, which I have reconsidered quite a lot after my impromptu trip to the Locker and my fight against Jones and Beckett in the whirlpool. The kid saved my neck from the gallows at Port Royal and stood up to Commodore Norrington, at the risk to be hanged alongside me! But with what I overheard on the _Conqueror_'s deck, I've added a third reason for my participation."

"What is it?" asked Bill.

Jack swallowed hard before answering: "Red Hand Pete wants the Dead Man's Chest, previously owned by Jones. That's why he had William abducted and tortured. He wants to gain immortality so he'll be free to pillage all the ships he wants: meaning no sailor would be safe, may he be a pirate or an honest-to-goodness one! Pete would be able to plunder a whole armada of ships, or highly-protected cities hiding behind fortress-like walls. Heck, he could even lead his men inside land by sailing up the rivers, like the Vikings used to do with their drakkars! He would drench his thirst for gold on the blood of victims too numerous to be counted, and there would be no army or fleet capable to stop him: what would he care about getting shot at by pistols, cannons or bombards, since he'd be immortal? Can you imagine a Lord Beckett gifted with the powers of a Davy Jones, mates?"

"Not a pleasant thought," growled Ammand, furious at the idea of his cousin's murderer becoming the invincible terror of both land and sea.

"Not-at-all," said Jack, waving his arms around like a signalman. "What's worse, Red Hand Pete must have the chest's key in his possession already, meaning our rescue mission is complicated by the fact that we imperatively have to find it aboard the _Conqueror_…"

"No, we don't!" interrupted Bill Turner.

Captain Jack Sparrow turned his huge black eyes towards his former shipmate: "What do you mean, Bootstrap? Of course we have to find the key! Otherwise, William won't be able to open the chest in a few years to get back… ahem… well, to regain… hum… the _thump-thump _he lost during the maelstrom battle…"

"You don't understand, Jack. Will didn't have the key on him when he was captured."

This time, Sparrow's eyes looked like as if they wanted to pop out of their sockets!

"Whaddaya mean, he didn't have the key?! But the _Dutchman_'s captain has to keep it on him at all times! So where on Earth is it?"

"Here," said Bill while reaching for something hidden beneath his wine-colored shirt, and he got out the famous double-stemmed key, hanging from his neck by a long, silvery chain: the elder Turner had made the links himself, from melted shillings he had found aboard the ghost ship, years ago. Jack noted that a lock of long, dark hair was tied to the key's bow and he supposed rightly it had belonged to Will.

"You have the Dead Man's Chest key with you?" said Jack, looking bewildered. "You took the precaution to pinch it before William went aboard the _Conqueror_? That was a stroke of genius, Bill! You're almost as tricky as I am!"

"No genius here, Jack, and no tricks; simply an expression of the immense love Will feels for me, his unworthy father, who had abandoned him. He entrusted me with this key as a token of his affection. I don't deserve that honor, but Will wanted me to have it and I didn't want to disappoint him. I agreed to keep it safe, at all costs, so Will's future would be guaranteed. And I've sworn to my son that nothing or no one, and I meant _**no one**_, would stand in our way to sever the bounds tying him to the _Flying Dutchman_ after his 10-year-long duty!" added Bill with a steel-like gleam shining in his eyes.

One glance at the elder Turner's resolute face lifted any kind of doubt the two pirate captains may had: he looked like he would fight Calypso, the heathen sea goddess, if she had dared to try preventing the lifting of the curse! Then Bill extended his hand towards the Turkish Pirate Lord:

"What says ye, Captain Ammand? Do we still have a deal?"

Ammand considered long and hard his two guests before answering, but his mind was already made up: he wanted his revenge; Master Bootstrap wanted his son; Jack _"Serçe"_ wanted to rescue his friend and to prevent a catastrophe to piracy, just like with the abhorred Lord Beckett. And all this pointed to Red Hand Pete, the most detested gentleman of fortune that had ever sailed on salty waters!

"We still have a deal, Master Bootstrap", said the corsair while shaking Bill's hand. "And I'll make sure my men won't recoil from fighting Red Hand Pete, even in the eventually they learn about your son's identity."

Bill smiled and, as on cue, Jack's ever-running mouth started working again:

"That's the spirit, mates! Should we seal our alliance in blood… Or maybe ink? Then again, I'd rather have a toast of rum! Oh right, I keep forgetting there isn't any aboard. I really, really should have packed more flagons. Anyway, the three of us are going to pummel Red Hand Pete to the ground, and the whole world will know what happens when resolute pirates like ourselves ally their forces for a common goal. With Ammand's leadership, Bill's determination and my marvelous plan, we cannot fail!"

"Oh, yes? And what is that wonderful plan of yours?" asked Ammand, a bit sardonically.

Captain Jack Sparrow motioned to the two other men to come closer and soon the three men were seated at the Great Cabin's round table.

"All right mates, here's the situation: Red Hand Pete's original plan is shot to pieces and he is trapped like a fly in an empty rum bottle. He has a prisoner who won't talk, a torturer who doesn't amount to anything, and a crew which is seriously considering mutiny. Pete is very far from getting his hands on the Dead Man's Chest and he cannot trust anyone aboard his ship to solve his problem. And by tomorrow morning, another problem will arise: he'll find out that the _Conqueror_'s binnacle have been heavily damaged, along with the navigational instruments placed inside. Consequently, he'll have to make port as soon as possible to get a new set of compasses and a sand timer to be settled in the box."

"How do you know about the binnacle?" interrupted Bill Turner.

"Because I am the culprit who has damaged it earlier, that's why!" answered Jack, stating the obvious. "Hear me out: Pete will rant and rave about it, but he will have to go on land and find new navigational instruments: he could hardly roam on the seas for all eternity if he doesn't even know where he's going! He will have to stop torturing William for a while, because cries of pain coming from a ship anchored in a crowded harbor would draw unwanted attention. And the _Conqueror_ will have no other choice than to reach the only port relatively safe for its Captain: Tortuga."

"Tortuga? But what if he'll find a new binnacle there?" asked Ammand.

"That's very unlikely! That island is well-known for the qualities of its rum, the attractiveness of its ladies and the originality of its fights, but it isn't the best port to make repairs: no wonders here, the population is constantly drunk! But Red Hand Pete could hardly go to another harbor, like Port Royal, where he would be instantly recognized and arrested. So he'll go to Tortuga in the hopes to find the necessary elements; he'll soon realize it's a no-go, but before he starts shooting in rage at everyone on sight, he'll meet his savior… John Silver."

Jack said this name with a wide grin on his face, showing his whole display of gold and silver teeth flashing under the light provided by the bronze lantern, rocking gently above the three conspirators' heads.

Bill was flabbergasted: did Jack mean that he was going to…?

"_Serçe_, you cannot be serious!" protested Ammand. "You plan to meet Red Hand Pete in Tortuga? But no one will believe your name is John Silver: you'll be recognized as soon as you'll step foot on land!"

"It is true that in the Caribbean isles, my face is as famous as the King of England's. That's the price of glory, mate!" sighed Jack dramatically while rolling his eyes. "But I've got it covered: I'll change my looks before reaching Tortuga, and my disguise would fool my own mother if she were still among us to testify."

"But Jack, what do you intent to propose to Red Hand Pete so he'll accept to collaborate with you?" asked Bootstrap Bill.

"Not with me, mate, but with John Silver!" specified Jack. "And who is John Silver? He's a bitter, down-his-luck man with a thirst for riches, ready to sell his soul to the Devil to reach his goal. He will learn about Pete's intentions while hanging around Tortuga's harbors, so he'll propose him an association: his help in making William talk, against a share of whatever treasure Pete is coveting."

"A way to make Will talk? What do you mean?"

Jack took out his magical compass from his belt again, opened it and the disk turned three times on its axis before it stopped so the fleur-de-lys needle would point in the direction of the west.

"Red Hand Pete needs a new compass, but he also needs a touch of magic to get out of his dead-end situation: he has an immortal prisoner who won't talk under tortures employed on common mortals. Well, to find out what are the secrets of a supernatural man, the logic asks for the use of a supernatural item!"

* * *

In the bowels of the _Conqueror_'s, a young man slowly opened his eyes. The room he was kept in was poorly lit by a single candle burning behind the dirty glass panel of a lantern, but after a while he was able to make out the outlines of the various crates and boxes stocked in the silent orlop deck. There was nobody on sight and Will Turner let out a sigh of relief, which ended with a low groan of pain.

He couldn't feel his arms any more: they had been forcefully held in an upright position for days and they were completely paralyzed, with blood running from the cuts at his writs, where the chains had dug into his flesh. His lower body, still buried waist-deep inside the crate full of soil, was enduring an unbearable torment, comparable to be continuously pierced by spikes while locked inside an iron maiden. And his torso… oh God, that was where Long had concentrated his efforts in trying to make him talk: he had used needles, red-hot irons, whips… for hours. Will couldn't remember how many times he had fainted.

One image had remained vivid during his whole torment: the face of Red Hand Pete's servant snarling, just before he had started his interrogations: _"You'll be a lot less beautiful after I'm finished with you!"_

The prisoner glanced briefly at his bare torso, covered with wounds and burns. Small rivers of blood had spread from the cuts to finish their course in the dirt filling the crate he was half-buried in. He had not been given any food or water since his capture and his thirst, added to the weight loss, was weakening his body even more. Will knew it would be a matter of time before fever, coming from untreated wounds and lack of water, would drive him to madness. And then, what would happen? Would he confess the location of the Dead Man's Chest in his delirium, leading the wolves to the house sheltering Elizabeth and Little Will?

_Please, no…_

Fortunately, his resistance had highly irritated Red Hand Pete, who had hauled Long upstairs for a word of explanation about the poor results of his questioning techniques; it had given the prisoner a reprieve from the torture sessions, and for a brief moment he had felt a spark of pride shining inside his being. The false Peterson had stripped Will Turner of his freedom, his powers and his clothes; however, he had failed in his attempts to destroy the young man's courage and endurance… but for how long Will could still resist?

He moaned softly, wishing for the thousandth time that he could die. But he didn't have that kind of escape any longer and no one knew where he was. His father had been murdered; his men were sleeping forever in their watery graves; it would take months for his beloved Elizabeth to learn what had happened to her husband…

The young Turner closed his eyes in desperation; no one could find him, no one could help him. He was alone, trapped in a hellish place, at the mercy of ruthless men who were ready to torment him until he'd reach his breaking point. But nothing, not even his physical agonies, could be compared to the pain tearing his mind apart at the thoughts of his loved ones in danger, his adored father gone.

_Papa… Elizabeth…__ Little Will…_

A single tear escaped from his closed eyelids to run down on his cheek, his throat, his chest, and then Will lost consciousness again. Just before surrendering to the silence and the darkness, he whispered a name:

"Jack…"

TBC…


	11. Author's note

**Author's note:**

Due to an upcoming vacation, I won't be able to post new chapters before May 23rd.

I'd like to thank my wonderful readers and reviewers for their kindness: more than a 100 reviews for this story, wow!!

Best regards,

Rose de Sharon


	12. A surprise visit

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- Yo-ho, yo-ho, I'm back from my trip to Disney World, Florida!

- More than a 100 reviews for this story. Thank you so much to my wonderful readers!

- Details about the galley come from Pirates Wiki.

- The Sun Tzu quote comes from the _"Art of war"_ book.

* * *

**Chapter ****11: A surprise visit**

"So, that's your plan?" asked Captain Ammand the corsair after Jack Sparrow had explained his idea to him and Bootstrap Bill Turner in the secrecy of the _Seref_'s Great Cabin. "But it's madness!"

"Precisely, Ammand, it is because it is madness that it will work. Otherwise, it wouldn't!" said Jack with a haughty expression on his face.

"You're taking an awful risk, Jack," said Bill Turner. "If anything should go wrong while you're aboard the _Conqueror_, Ammand and I would be too far away to help you."

"Mate, my plan will work to the perfection, and do you want to know why? Apart from the fact that I am Captain Jack Sparrow and I can do anything, it will also be a success because I will hand out to Red Hand Pete everything he wants – and on a platter, no less. After years spent searching the Dead Man's Chest, months lost to find the _Flying Dutchman_ and days of frustration in failing to make William talk, he won't question his good fortune after John Silver – interpreted by yours truly – will manage to make his prisoner reveal where the said chest is buried. All you will have to do is following the _Conqueror_, and keep in mind to maintain a safe distance to avoid being spotted. Otherwise, it will ruin the surprise! Follow that ship wherever it leads you, and wait for my signal before launching an attack. That's when, and only when, you'll board the _Conqueror_. Marty and Cotton can participate at the attack since they are good fighters; Pintel and Ragetti could be entrusted with one of the _Seref'_s guns, but for crying out loud do not employ Murtogg and Mullroy!"

"But what will be your signal, _Serçe_?" asked Ammand.

"You'll recognize it when you'll see it, worry not!"

The Pirate Lord of the Black See shook his head in consternation: with Captain Jack Sparrow taking charge, it would certainly be an unmistakable and unforgettable signal!

The sounds of running footsteps were suddenly heard outside the Great Cabin's door, and within seconds someone pounded on it.

"_Kaptan!_ (Captain)" called out a voice, "_Kaptan!_"

"It's Yusuf again!" said Ammand. "What is going on?"

The corsair barked an order and Yusuf entered the Great Cabin like a hurricane, looking as if he had just sawn the wildest thing of his whole pirate's life. He blurred out a torrent of words in Turkish and Ammand translated quickly to his guests:

"We have a serious situation on the deck. Come with me!"

Without waiting for an answer, Ammand and his First Mate ran outside, leaving Jack and Bill behind. The two men exchanged a worried glance: could it be the _Conqueror_? Did Red Hand Pete spot the galley in spite of the night? Would they have to fight in the dark, at the risk of getting killed without having a single chance to save Will? But staying rooted on the spot wouldn't help, so Bill ran followed suit. Jack took the time to have a look around, in case of a forgotten rum flagon was hiding behind the furniture; much to his chagrin, there wasn't any! With a loud sigh, he stepped out of the cabin as well.

When he reached the upper deck, Jack didn't see the enemy ship coming towards them and he sighed in relief. But Ammand's men were talking among themselves while gesturing wildly and pointing at the _Seref_'s mainmast, which was sporting a huge triangular "lateen sail" mounted on a long yard set at a 45-radius angle from the mainmast, allowing a fore-and-aft direction of the galley. Among the crew were Marty and Cotton, but the Pintel & Raggetti duo and the other pair of bumbling idiots were nowhere on sight – probably still asleep in the lower deck. Jack squinted in the dark, but he couldn't make out what was upsetting the seamen to make them forget the "Keep quiet" consign ordered to avoid arousing the enemy's attention.

"_Sessizlik!_ (Silence)" hissed Ammand, and all the sailors shut abruptly their mouths. Yusuf whispered a few words at his Captain's ear, and the gaunt-faced corsair said to Bill and Jack:

"Yusuf says there is a man who is tranquilly sitting on the top of the mainmast's yard-arm!"

"But what is your man doing up there?" asked Jack. "Did he slip while on lookout duty? Or has he been having any suicidal ideas lately?"

"My man? But he's not one of my crew! Yusuf says he looks Asian, and all my sailors are Turkish!" protested Ammand.

Bootstrap Bill's eyes widened: on his return from the _Conqueror_, Jack had mentioned an Asiatic man who had gotten clobbered by Red Hand Pete: the one who had failed in his attempts to extort a confession from Will. The elder Turner had inwardly promised the torturer a very painful retribution… But it couldn't be the same man who was perched atop the _Seref_ mainmast now, could it?

Jack's eyes had gotten used to the darkness and indeed, he could make out the contours of a man sitting cross-legged on the highest point of the yard-arm; apparently, he had adopted the lotus posture and he seemed completely relaxed, as if his precarious position between sky and sea didn't worry him. But before Jack could ask the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea what was he going to do, the unexpected visitor suddenly jumped from the yard-arm, heading directly for the deck!

"_Dikkat!_ (Watch out)" said Ammand, and all his men scrambled out of the way in a panic.

But the falling man didn't plunge to his death: quite the contrary! With an extraordinary sense of equilibrium and agility, he used the Earth's gravity to do a double somersault and he landed on the deck on his two feet, as silently as a cat, just before bowing in front of Ammand, Bill Turner and Jack Sparrow. The sailors looked at this incredible display of gymnastics in a stunned silence, troubled only by Cotton's parrot which flapped its wings in an applaud-like gesture and squeaked: _"Wind in your sails!"_

The two Captains and the _Flying Dutchman_'s First Mate could hardly believe their own eyes, either: the man had survived his fall without even breaking a sweat! That strange passenger was indeed from Asia; he was of medium height, bald and his features were ordinary. His immaculate clothes were obviously made from grey silk but there was nothing ostentatious about them: no embroidery, decorations or marks which could have given an indication about his identity. He wore black leather slippers and, apparently, he didn't carry a bag or even a knapsack. In fact, this man looked completely anonymous apart from his piercing, intelligent eyes. The tattoo of a red dragon had been engraved on the skin of his neck, on the left side.

"Lord Captain Ammand the corsair, Pirate Master of the Black Sea" said the Asian in flawless English. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, as your reputation precedes you."

"If you had truly learned about my reputation, you'd know that I use stowaways as rowing slaves!" growled Ammand, obviously furious at the sight for the unexpected traveler who had managed to hop aboard his galley.

"I am quite aware of that, Lord Captain Ammand," answered the visitor. "However, it is my hope that you'd allow me to explain the reason of my humble presence aboard your mighty ship. Afterwards, I will surrender at the mercy of your judgment."

The Turkish corsair was already fuming and he seemed ready to order Yusuf to grab the Chinaman by the scruff of his neck to thrown him overboard at once, but a quick look from Bill and a less-than-discreet cough from Jack momentarily stopped his ire: the _Conqueror_ was still around and unnecessary noises could alert Red Hand Pete and his crewmembers.

"What-do-you-want?" said the _Seref_'s commander between teeth gritted so hard they seemed ready to shatter into a hundred pieces each.

"I am hunting a man, Lord Captain Ammand; someone who serves your enemy, the pretentious pirate with the bloodied hand. It so happens that both men are sailing aboard the miserable ship vainly named the _Conqueror_, which you are assiduously chasing."

"And how did you learn about our goal?"

"In a picturesque tavern of Tortuga, I had the good fortune to hear a conversation between your two guests about an urgent matter they had with Red Hand Pete; consequently, I've followed them to your galley and took the liberty to hide within its hold."

At those words, Ammand drew his long curved sword from its scabbard! Instantly, all the _Seref_'s sailors reached out for their pistols and cutlasses.

"A spy, that's a spy! Yusuf, have him throw to the brig, in chains!"

"Whoa! Easy, Ammand!" said Jack while putting a restraining hand on the corsair's arm. "I tend to think it might be more appropriate to hear what this man has to say, before taking hasty actions which might alter the duration of his life span on God's Green Earth, savvy?"

"What do you mean, _Serçe_? I don't want spies aboard my galley!" barked Ammand. "And how can we know he won't betray us to Red Hand Pete?"

"Lord Captain Ammand, it is my dearest wish to see the _Conqueror_ destroyed along with the man I am hunting," said the Chinese while bowing in front of the corsair again. "However, this man is hiding behind Red Hand Pete to avoid the punishments he had drawn upon his head for the deeds he has committed in our homeland. As you can see, I am alone and therefore incapable to annihilate the _Conqueror_ all by myself. Consequently, I am humbly asking you to consider an alliance: your help in exchange of some helpful information I happen to have, all in order to send this pitiful vessel, along with its captain and its crew, to the eternal and peaceful deep gardens of the ocean."

Ammand's eyebrows knotted together above his gold-and-brown gaze: "But we already have all the information we need about Red Hand Pete!"

"Ah, yes, but you don't know about his accomplice, the man I chase: he may looks like a bullied servant but he is much more dangerous than his so-called Master can imagine. Would you be eager to attack your enemy with only one of your eyes open, Lord Captain Ammand?"

Bootstrap Bill Turner had blanched, remembering Jack's tale about the scene he had saw on the _Conqueror_'s upper deck. Whatever the stowaway had to say about his compatriot, it didn't sound good for Will. And if Jack were to sail on the enemy ship, he couldn't worry about getting a stab in the back from Red Hand Pete's lackey.

"What do you think, Master Bootstrap?" finally asked Ammand, more trusting in the elder Turner's judgment than in Jack's.

"Forewarned is forearmed. I think we should listen to this man", answered Bill.

Ammand grumbled between his teeth: his guests were testing his patience! First by making him accept Barbossa's former idiots, then by asking him to not throw a stowaway overboard or in the brig, whichever came first! But then again, this spy's presence on the _Seref_ was unnerving: his crewmembers weren't novices and this man must be very good to have hid himself in the hold for hours, and then managed to climb on the mainmast without raising attention. The corsair had serious concerns about the security of his ship and this intruder could tell him how he had managed to jump aboard the galley unnoticed.

Mistaking Ammand's prolonged silence for disapproval, Bill started searching inside his shirt for the bag of diamonds but the Turkish Pirate Lord motioned him to stop: he didn't want his men or the Chinese to see his passengers' means of payment. Finally, with a furious glance at the stowaway, he very reluctantly agreed for a parlay.

"Yusuf! Get that man in my cabin, I want to interrogate him. And keep the men quiet, the _Conqueror_ is still at earshot! _Serçe_, Master Bootstrap, come with me!"

* * *

Minutes after, in the quietness of the Great Cabin, Captain Ammand, Captain Jack Sparrow and First Mate Bill Turner were eyeing the spy, who was calmly sitting in the middle of the room. Apparently, he didn't mind being the center of attention, and it infuriated the corsair even more. That spy had nerves of iron, he'll give him that!

"So? What do you have to say for yourself?" barked the _Seref'_s commander.

"My name is Wang Tao," replied the Chinese, "and I deeply regret my dramatic apparition upon your mighty ship, Lord Captain Ammand, but it was important you'd understand the seriousness my mission. After having the good fortune to overhear that conversation in the tavern, I understood Lord Captain Sparrow, former commander of the _Black Pearl_, and Lord First Officer Turner had united their forces in order to rescue Lord Captain Turner, honorable commander of the Soul Vessel. It is a pleasure to meet you, my lords," said the man while standing up and bowing in front of Bill and Jack.

A silence followed the Chinese's declaration. This man had learnt about Will and the work he was doing?

"You… You know about the _Flying Dutchman_?" asked Bootstrap with a trembling voice.

"Yes, Lord First Officer Turner. This phantom ship has gained quite a reputation across the globe, including in the Chinese seas. For years, our sailors had been thoroughly frightened of a horrible-looking Dutch fluyt, whose demonic commander reaped dying seamen to use them as eternal slaves, neglecting the souls of those who needed a guide for the Other World. We also learnt about the terrible transformations those men were submitted to, changing into an amalgamation of oceanic flora and fauna. My people were convinced the monstrous commander had betrayed a sea goddess to commit those abominations, and that she would send a hero to vanquish the demon and free its cursed crew."

"_You have no idea how right your people were, mate!"_ thought Jack.

"Some intrepid men searched for the demon to fight him and become the goddess' champion: they were never to be seen or heard again. But a few years ago, rumors were spread around that the spirit-carrier vessel had completely changed: survivors of wreckages or naval actions talked about seeing the _Flying Dutchman_ completely restored, its sailors back into their pure human forms, and welcoming aboard the ghosts of the unfortunates who had died at sea. Details were sketchy, but all the witnesses mentioned the new commander of the Soul Vessel… a young man, who looked like a heavenly herald."

Bill Turner took a step backwards to hide the blush coloring his cheeks in the Great Cabin's shadows, but Ammand asked in a harsh tone:

"So? What does this have to do with you?"

"My family belongs to the noble Red Dragon Clan; for centuries, we have sailed across the salty waters, honoring our pirating profession with sagacity and celerity, both qualities that had made the joy of our associates and the despair of the authorities. However, two subjects of concern had been raised among the members of my vast family in the past. The first one concerned a cousin, a valorous sailor, who had a lifelong obsession about acquiring powers by finding the aforementioned sea goddess… His name was Sao Feng, Pirate Lord of the South China Sea."

"What?" sputtered Jack, dropping in surprise a trinket he was trying to steal from a nearby table, "Sao Feng was one of your relatives?"

"Exactly, Lord Captain Sparrow, and his demise has been a bitter blow for our family."

"Wait, wait!" interrupted Bootstrap Bill Turner, panicking at the idea that Will could be wrongly blamed for the death of the Pirate Lord of the South China Sea. "Listen, it is true that Sao Feng has been killed by cannonballs fired by the _Flying Dutchman_; but my so… I mean Captain Turner wasn't commandeering this ship at the time; it was Davy Jones, the monster!"

Wang Tao inclined his head towards the elder Turner: "I know, honorable Lord Turner. You see, my clan's elders have assigned me to find out what had happened to Sao Feng – not to avenge him, I assure you; we have accepted the dangers of our profession and sudden demise is often the sad conclusion of a pirate's destiny. My family just wanted to uncover the truth, so Sao Feng's spirit could rest in peace. During my investigations, I had the good fortune to meet Tai Huang, my cousin's former First Officer, who explained what happened after the _Flying Dutchman_ had attacked the _Empress_: their capture by fish-people lead by an octopus-faced being named "Davee Joon", a young woman having a conversation with a shell-covered man in the brig, and their escape from the ghost ship."

Bill lowered his eyes, remembering his state of madness while being locked in the _Dutchman_'s brig: if he had been stronger, Jones' oath wouldn't have crushed his mind… And he would have escaped with Elizabeth and her Chinese crewmembers, instead of raising the alarm in his erratic state and provoke the death of Commodore Norrington, who had been trying to help his future daughter-in-law!

"After hearing Tai Huang's testimony, there were no doubts for me that my cousin had been the victim of "Joon", who was under the control of the would-be Lord Beckett, the dreaded East India Trading Company leader. My inquest would have finished there, but then I've heard a rumor, this time about my family's second subject of concern: another cousin, who is currently serving under the _Conqueror_'s mast… his name is Shiao Long."

Wang Tao's eyes hardened as he went on with his tale: "I have to precise here, and to my great shame, that Shiao Long is the disgrace of my clan. He's an embittered man with more ambition than courage; many times he asked for responsibilities among our organization, but since he has absolutely no qualities whatsoever, he wouldn't even be entrusted with the guardianship of a bagful of soya beans. He's also highly susceptible, and he had murdered countless people who supposedly have made fun of him, including some of his relatives. For decency's sake, I won't bother you with the details of his vile actions. Just know that his betrayal towards his family ties had him outlawed by the elders of my clan, who had entrusted me to put a definitive end to his actions."

Jack's mental clogs were turning inside his brains at full speed, while the Turkish corsair resumed the situation succinctly: "You are your cousin Long's executioner."

"That's quite right, Lord Captain Ammand," acknowledged Wang Tao. "Unfortunately, my cousin escaped from China and he left various false trails to cover his tracks. Once, he even arranged things so it would look like he had been killed, making me waste precious time. After a few years, I've discovered that he was serving Red Hand Pete, but what amazed me was learning that this pirate captain has the same obsession that had sealed Sao Feng's destiny: immortality by finding the sea goddess. It is also Shiao Long's goal."

The two Captains and the First Mate exchanged a quick glance among themselves.

"You mean… Your cousin Long wants to become immortal, too?" asked Bootstrap Bill.

"Correct, Lord First Officer Turner. He wants to compensate his natural-born mediocrity of both mind and body by becoming as powerful and invulnerable as a black dragon; and to achieve this fantastic and impossible dream, what would be better than gaining eternal life? For this, he had disavowed our clan and our ways, to the point of erasing our family's tattoo to have it replaced by his dark mascot!"

Jack had been unusually quiet for the past minute, meaning he was thinking hard. He remembered the one named Long, who had been beaten up on the deck… That man had sported the tattoo of a black dragon on the right side of his neck. So he was more than a submissive servant and an occasional torturer: Long was also a potential traitor. That was very interesting! Nothing steered more trouble than opposite ambitions colliding with each other, especially within the restricted space of a ship… And no one could steer up trouble better than Captain Jack Sparrow!

Wang Tao went on with his tale: "Shiao Long would betray his Master in a snap, especially after being treated with utmost disdain. He probably has years of resentment towards Red Hand Pete for working as a servant, and becoming immortal would both fulfill his dreams and avenge him for his low-grade status. But be warned, my lords, that my cousin has been trained since childhood in the ways of the Red Dragon clan."

"Meaning?" asked the Turkish corsair.

"Lord Captain Ammand, it means that he knows how to commit murder in the blink of an eye. Our people are trained to end a man's life in ways that you wouldn't even try to imagine. I am not allowed to elaborate about our clan's assassination techniques due to the discretion oath I've pledged, you'll understand; just be aware that mundane objects such as a sewing needle, a tiny shard of glass or a small wooden ring worn on a finger would be enough to kill you, which is something I'd like to prevent happening for the moment."

"_Çok naziksiniz!_ (You are too kind)" answered Ammand with a hint of sarcasm. "Now that we are warned about your cousin Long and his treacherous nature, what would stop me from hanging you from the mainmast's yard-arm?"

"Your reputation, my lord, is of a wise man. I offer you my collaboration in your pursuit of Red Hand Pete in exchange of your word that Shiao Long is mine, and mine alone to kill, after you've boarded the _Conqueror_. Would you deprive yourself of an ally for your dangerous quest of rescue and revenge?"

For a moment, Ammand looked like he'd skewer Wang Tao on the spot; the stowaway had breached through his ship's security and he didn't like it at all! But on the other hand, he hadn't become the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea and lived for more than fifty years by taking harsh decisions, dictated by anger or impetuousness. Wang Tao, for his entire calm demeanor, irradiated a feeling of danger and violence brewing just below his impeccable surface. The Chinese looked unarmed and harmless, but Ammand wouldn't bet his life on first impressions. He turned towards Bill and Jack and asked in a quiet voice:

"What do you think, Master Bootstrap?"

"I'd rather have him with us than against us, Captain Ammand," answered the big man. "If he needs to fight Red Hand Pete to kill his cousin, then we have truly a common goal."

"And you, _Serçe_?"

"Well, considering Mister Wang Tao has enough nerve to show his spying face in the open air in spite of probable and harmful consequences upon his person, and he's flexible to the point of making gravity-defying acrobatics at the risk of repainting your upper deck with the contents of his skull, the fact that his relative, Red Hand Pete's servant, is indeed sporting the tattoo of a fantasy black reptilian creature on his scrawny neck – I saw it during my accurate investigation aboard the _Conqueror_ – and since Mister Tao has absolutely no way to be a better liar than I am…"

"_Serçe_, I am getting impatient!"

"Short and sweet: I am tempted to give Mister Wang Tao a chance to prove himself, on the condition to keep a watchful eye over him while he remains amongst us. Savvy?"

Ammand let out a long, frustrated sigh: "First you want me to rush after Red Hand Pete, out of the blue and in the middle of the night. Then, you ask me to accept six idiots and a chatterbox parrot aboard my galley. Now, a stowaway escapes punishment and gets a free ride on the _Seref_, thanks to your intervention. What will you want me to do next, adopt the Kraken?"

"Don't worry about the Kraken, mate!" answered Jack. "That beastie has been killed years ago: I saw its decomposing body lying on a beach, being picked on by seagulls and from the nauseating emanations coming from that big hump of tentacles, its return is highly unlikely. In fact, there are more chances we'll meet seducing mermaids covered with jewels, standing on their fish tails with their beautiful hair floating in the air and singing songs that would make us turn crazier that we already are, than crossing path again with Davy Jones' pet wrecker!"

The Turkish corsair was starting to seriously reconsider his agreement with Jack Sparrow and Bill Turner; never, in his born days, would he have imagined renting his ship and his services would be so hard on his nerves!

* * *

Hours later, Jack had left the Great Cabin in order to prepare for his meeting with Red Hand Pete and he had disappeared into the _Seref_'s bowels. Bill Turner and Captain Ammand had returned on deck: dawn was coloring the eastern horizon and the galley had to keep a cautious pace following the _Conqueror_. Wang Tao had been ordered to stay on the upper deck at all times, rain or shine, under the supervision of two of the _Seref'_s sailors who had to keep watch on the spy day and night, and he had willingly accepted his semi-prisoner status – much to Ammand's fury. Marty and Cotton had been put in charge of mending some sails, while Murtogg and Mullroy were swabbing the deck in company with Pintel and Ragetti; but of course these last two idiots couldn't stop their arguing, not even for a minute!

"You're mopping too hard!" growled Pintel.

"You're not mopping hard enough!" shot Ragetti back. "If you don't show up some more energy, you slowpoke, Captain Ammand will have us locked in the brig with plain bread and water!"

"I'll show some energy all right! I'll knock your block off!" said Pintel while lifting his broom with the intention of breaking the cleaning tool's handle on his favorite accomplice's head.

"Shut up, the both of you, or I'll sever your tongues!" snapped Bootstrap Bill in anger: these two fools had raised their voices while the _Conqueror'_s crewmembers could still hear them!

Pintel and Ragetti jumped in fright at the sight of Turner's luminescent blue eyes, sparkling like stars in the early morning light – the dim-witted duo didn't know that Bill Turner's gaze had acquired a bioluminescence quality during his slavery under Davy Jones: it had been quite helpful for Bill at the time, in order to see through the darkness of the then-decaying _Flying Dutchman_. The ship and its crew were back to their normal forms again, thanks to the younger Turner's influence, but Bill had never lost this ability to make his eyes shine at will.

Eventually, Pintel and Ragetti closed their mouths and returned to their tasks, but that incident didn't escape Ammand's attention or his men's. Yusuf started to say something to his commanding officer, but the corsair just put his index finger on his lips, notifying his First Mate to be quiet. Master Bootstrap had revealed another mystery about him, but now wasn't the time to ask questions about it!

"Where is Sparrow?" asked the corsair, keeping his attention on the matter at hand.

"I don't know, Captain, he hadn't come up since our last meeting," answered Bill. "Do you want me to look for him?"

"No, don't bother yourself, Master Bootstrap," said Ammand while looking at the _Conqueror_'s silhouette through his spyglass. "I am sure _Serçe_ will come up as soon as he's ready to make his usual trouble…"

As on cue, Captain Jack Sparrow ran up the stairs to jump on the upper deck, announcing with a satisfied grin on his face:

"There! I'm all set to go!"

Ammand the Turkish corsair looked at Jack and, surprised, he dropped his spyglass on the deck's planks.

Bootstrap Bill Turner opened wide his mouth and forgot to close it.

Yusuf and his shipmates looked at their Captain's guest with their eyes starting out of their heads.

Pintel and Ragetti hugged each other like two children charged by a bull.

Marty lost his balance and tumbled from the crate he was sitting on.

Cotton let the sails he was mending fall on the deck and forgot about them, looking completely bewildered. His blue and yellow parrot perched on his shoulder squeaked in fear: _"Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"_

Murtogg and Mullroy dropped their brooms on the feet of Turkish sailors, earning violent cries of _"Beceriksiz!"_ (clumsy) but the two ex-Royal Marines didn't even noticed their protestations, too flabbergasted by what they were seeing.

Only Wang Tao calmly looked at Jack, and smiled: "Sun Tzu has said: _'All warfare is based on deception.'_"

Captain Jack Sparrow had completely changed his appearance: his braids and dreadlocks were gone, as well as the beads and various trinkets adorning them, and they had been replaced by a mane of wild dark hair, cut at shoulder's length and tied in the back in a ponytail. The braids hanging from his goatee had been shorn, and his skin was much paler than before. Dark circles had appeared beneath his eyes and his mustache was trimmed neat. But that wasn't the most spectacular change: the shabby-dandy pirates clothes had been changed for a plain dark coat, vest and pants, and a knotted white tie above a linen shirt. The only part of his pirate attire Jack had kept were his sea boots, who had been cleaned for the occasion. His gait was steadier, and his eyes had stopped darting at every direction. If Bill didn't know better, he could have sworn Jack was making an imitation of Mercer, Lord Beckett's late and faithful assistant, but with an even more sinister attitude, enhanced by his gold-and-silver smile.

"So, how do I look, mate?" asked Jack to the elder Turner.

"Disturbing!" answered Bootstrap Bill. "You look like a clerk who had cast longing eyes into the depths of Hell way too often."

"That's the spirit!" said Jack, looking immensely satisfied with himself. "That's exactly what I want Red Hand Pete to think about John Silver. I do make quite an impression, don't I?"

"Frankly, _Serçe_, I wouldn't have recognized you! Now, you have a good chance to walk around Tortuga without being bothered by old acquaintances to whom you own money to," admitted Ammand.

"See? I told ya my plan would knock your socks off! Isn't it amazing what a haircut and a change of attire can do to a man?"

Considering the astonished reaction from his crew, the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea could hardly say otherwise. Sparrow looked every inch a man who had known bitter hardships in his life, and who had turned to the supernatural to improve his existence… including selling his soul to the Devil.

"But where did you get those clothes, Jack?" asked Bill. "We didn't have the time to do some shopping before leaving Tortuga!"

"Nope, mate, but I took the time to buy some rum flagons, remember? That's where I met an inebriated customer of the Faithful Bride, who had the courtesy to be of the same size as I am; so after a few fine words and a well-placed blow to his head with an empty bottle, the said customer gratefully participated to my plan by donating his clothes. Very nice of him, don't you think? Now, it's just a matter of time before Red Hand Pete realizes his binnacle is irreparably damaged, thus making him head for Tortuga, which he will reach before the evening. And then… get cracking, John Silver!"

Jack suddenly realized Bill's eyes were locked upon him: the blue gaze was betraying the anger and worries the elder Turner felt about his kidnapped son, but there was also a tiny ray of hope shining deep within it. The ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_ winked at his former shipmate, and said:

"I won't come back without Will; I swear to ye, mate!"

TBC….

_PS: To imagine Jack's new looks, try to remember Johnny Depp in his Sweeney Todd role… without the lock of white hair and the razors! ;-)_


	13. We have a deal!

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- In French, the word _"Amphitryon"_ is synonym for _"A good host"_; it comes from a 1668 play written by actor Molière (1622 – 1673) with its famous line: "_Le véritable Amphitryon est l'Amphitryon où l'on dîne_," translated in _"The real Amphitryon is the one where you dine."_ Originally, Amphitryon was a Theban general mentioned in Greek mythology.

- "_A__rgumentum baculinum" _means_ "The argument of the stick" _in Latin

* * *

**Chapter ****12: We have a deal!**

Red Hand Pete, who was seated at a table of the Faithful Bride tavern while drinking rum in a _"blackjack"_, a leather-made, resin-coated tankard, had reached the end of his patience.

Off all the goddamned luck! His ship's binnacle had been irremediably damaged last night! And of course Anderson, the helmsman on duty, had vehemently affirmed that he hadn't seen anyone approaching the binnacle and he had sworn on his mother's soul that he was innocent of any kind of wrongdoings. But Anderson shouldn't have talked about souls: it had reminded Red Hand Pete of the stubborn Captain Turner and it had irked the _Conqueror_'s commander even more; consequently, he had rammed his sword through the helmsman's body, thus reuniting Anderson with his mother much earlier than he'd had planned.

His crewmembers had been too surprised by their Captain's act of violence to do anything to save their comrade. But right after the unfortunate helmsman's corpse had been thrown overboard, without even bothering to sew it inside a shroud, the men had openly protested against their living conditions, the lack of sleep and the absence of any kind of promised booty. Especially Martingale, one of the worst of his crew, who had dared to openly criticize his commander for his failure in making Turner talk!

Red Hand Pete took a long swing of rum, cursing the whole world and every one of its inhabitants. As if the whole situation was his fault! Shiao Long had promised him quick results with his ancestral interrogation techniques but five days after his abduction from the _Flying Dutchman_, the captive hadn't told them where the Dead Man's Chest was hidden. Out of sheer frustration, Red Hand Pete had beaten Long senseless before going back to the Great Cabin to drown his frustrations in rum.

Hours later, Red Hand Pete, driven mad by the drink and his rage, had gone down to the orlop deck to use a more traditional way to make a prisoner talk. He had grabbed the ship's cat-o'-nine-tails and he had whipped Turner, lashing mercilessly at the young man's bare back, torso and arms. During the whole session, Turner had moaned unintelligible sounds and then he had fallen into a deep unconsciousness… but he still hadn't talked. Finally realizing the futility of his actions, Red Hand Pete had gone back upstairs to sleep off his booze. And the next morning, he had found out that the _Conqueror_'s binnacle had been damaged beyond repairs!

"I want a full bottle of rum!" barked Red Hand Pete in the direction of the serving wench. But the girl, who was wearing too much makeup on her face, just shrugged before walking away, leaving her rude customer absolutely furious. She was constantly twisting her right earlobe between her fingers, as if she searching for something lost in her discolored blond curls.

With his navigational instruments destroyed, Red Hand Pete hadn't had another any other choice but to drop anchor in Tortuga to find replacements, since none of his stupid men could be entrusted with this delicate mission. Tortuga was one of the very rare ports where he could walk around without being recognized, using his false name of "Peterson"… or at least, he hoped so! It had been years since he had cruised in the Caribbean waters, but he wasn't sure his face was completely forgotten by those drunken scoundrels. Red Hand Pete had sunk as many pirate ships as merchant ones, so maybe one of his former victims would shake from his inebriated state to settle an old account. But after a whole day of search in that island full of drunkards, he hadn't been able to find a new compass and the _Conqueror_'s captain was starting to fear for his own safety.

His prisoner wouldn't talk under torture… That imbecile Long couldn't get any results with his overrated interrogation techniques… His sailors were getting impatient after he had promised them, months ago, a mountain of gold each after Turner had confessed the location of the chest… and, on top of everything, his former helmsman's inattentiveness had cost him the ship's binnacle! How things could have gone downhill so quickly, after he had successfully managed to capture the immortal Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, his first step to glory?

Red Hand Pete gulped down the last drops of rum from his tankard: frustration was making the alcohol bitter under his tongue, increasing his ire even more. Being reduced to drink low-grade rum in a madhouse-like tavern when he could have already become the most feared pirate of the Seven Seas! What a disgrace! After his father had kicked him out of the family manor because of that silly business about the young lady he had raped, strangled and dunk the body in an abandoned well, Red Hand Pete had sworn he would gain a fortune that would make his genitor's look pitiful. And now, he could almost picture in his mind his father laughing at him, along with his honest-to-goodness younger brother.

In his angered state, he started to imagine the worst torments being inflicted on his prisoner. Then, a shadow fell upon him and he realized that a man had casually seated in front of him!

"What do you think you're doing? Go find your own table or I'll pound you!" snarled Red Hand Pete at the intruder.

"_Argumentum baculinum_!" answered the man. "But I kind of hoped for a different kind of philosophical approach from you, Captain."

Red Hand Pete's eyes widened at those words and he took a second look at his unexpected visitor: the cleric clothes he was wearing were making a sharp contrast with his pale skin, his obsidian-colored eyes heavily ringed, his wild mane of jet-black strands escaping from a ponytail and his close-cropped goatee. He appeared intelligent, but with a streak of madness burning just below the smooth surface of his flawless skin, making his eyes shining with a dangerous gleam. In fact, the man looked like an accountant who had just come back from a trip to Hell… and who had managed to remain untouched by the eternal flames out of ruse.

"You know me?" asked the pirate, suddenly worried.

"Oh yes I do, Captain Peterson… Or should I say, Red Hand Pete?"

A silence fell between the two men, only interrupted by the loud sounds, the laughter and the music played inside the tavern. Red Hand Pete had a dangerous movement towards his weapon belt, but the stranger merely smiled, showing a row of gold and silver teeth, and folded his slender hands together in his lap, looking perfectly at ease in their awkward meeting.

"Who are you? What do you want?" asked the _Conqueror'_s commander, his voice betraying his fear that he might have been recognized.

"My name is John Silver, and I want the same thing as you do: a fortune."

Red Hand Pete snorted in disdain at the sight of Silver's halfpenny rabbit's size: hardly the kind of man who could pretend to be cut for the dangerous life of pirates!

"I already have all the men I need aboard my ship, and you look like you haven't been fed in weeks. Why do you think I'd ever recruit you?"

"Because I have the solution to your problem, Captain," answered the cleric-lookalike with a purr, which suddenly reminded Red Hand Pete of his mother's pet cat, lying in front of their manor's fireplace; that animal had the habit to always lick its paws with the claws fully extended.

"And what is my problem?"

"A prisoner who won't talk."

This time, Red Hand Pete's face turned purple, which would have been a comical sight if Will Turner's life didn't hang in the balance. The servant girl came back and slammed a bottle of rum on the rough wooden table shared by the two men, without bothering to procure a second blackjack. She turned heels to walk to the tavern's counter, visibly preoccupied by something weighting heavily on her mind.

"Who told you about this?" growled the fake Peterson, both revolted and terrified at the idea that one of his sailors could have betrayed him: none of them knew of his exact plan, of course, but they were exhausted and highly irritated by their recent lack of sleep. A spy could easily loosen up their tongues with the bribery of a few coins! Or maybe it was Long who had talked to Silver, to get revenge from the beating he had received last night?

"Ah, Captain Red Hand Pete, we're in Tortuga, savvy?" answered John Silver. "And people here have a traditional tendency to speak while intoxicated from the delicious rum abundantly distilled in those isles. I so happen to have strolled around the docks this evening and I recognized your ship, even if you tried to dissimulate its real identity by changing its name into _The Benevolent_ – but the Conquistador's figurehead is a giveaway. Then I couldn't help but hear some of your men complaining about being thirsty, so I thought it magnanimous from my part to offer them a few rounds of drinks. Shortly afterwards, they started talking about a man held within your ship, whose silence is currently making you loose patience. But your seamen seemed to be quite unnerved by this man's resistance… In fact, they even mentioned that his endurance was… supernatural."

Red Hand Pete silently damned those sailors to the ninth depth of Hell. Stupid blabbermouths, so easily lured by the offer of free rum, they had been talking to a perfect stranger about the prisoner held aboard his brig!

"What I do to whom I want is nobody's business!"

"You misunderstand me, Captain Red Hand Pete. It is not in my place to criticize your actions. It would be foolish to ignore that in those parts of the world, piracy is rightfully dominant; and what do gentlemen of fortune seek? Why, their fortune, of course! And how do you find various forms of precious items? There are only two means available, actually: the first one, widely employed, consists in pillaging merchants' ships. The second one includes finding buried booty, but that kind of hunt requires intelligence, determination and keenness to gather needed information about a treasure's location; which may help to explain why this option isn't into vogue amongst the general population of pirates."

This indirect compliment pleased the _Conqueror_'s commander, who slightly relaxed his grip on the pistol strapped to his belt.

"Since you don't strike me as a pirate who would keep someone prisoner just for fun, it didn't take me long to understand that your captive knows the place of an object you dearly want. But your initial plan has run aground by, quoting your men, both the man's unnatural resilience and a Chinaman's inaptitude to extract information from this most uncooperative prisoner. That was the end of your crewmembers' story, but then I knew it would be the beginning of a fruitful association between you and me."

"And why, pray tell? Are you going to tell me you have a better way than torture to make a man talk?"

"I do, Captain. I have in my possession an enchanted object that could guide you to what you desire the most."

"Enchanted? You want me to believe in fairy tales, now?" said Red Hand Pete with a nervous, sardonic laugh.

"Captain, do not play the naive, it doesn't fit to a man of your reputation. You know as well as I do that those islands are full of mysteries and that strange events can fall upon the unprepared and ignorant sailor. Who can pretend to know everything happening in the Caribbean? I've always believed in the motto: _"Forewarned is forearmed"_; consequently, I have spent years gathering all available knowledge about the supernatural, and it had proven to be a fascinating subject."

The _Conqueror_'s Captain was taken aback by Silver's words; he prided himself of being a seaman through and through, and that included believing in superstitions – he'd deny it tooth and nail in public of course, even on his way to the gallows. It was easy to laugh at superstitions while on land; but when you were out in the open sea, living between sky and water for weeks and at the mercy of the elements, it was a different matter. Besides, Red Hand Pete had abducted the captain of a notorious ghost ship to gain immortality through the power of Calypso, the heathen sea goddess: it would be foolish from his part to deny his beliefs in the unexplained!

Silver calmly poured some rum in the single tankard and drank it in a loud gulp, making his reluctant Amphitryon wonder about his motivations.

"Why are you so interested in the supernatural? You are a clerk, a pen-pusher at best; a feeble like you should be working for the local governor or for merchant traders, instead of trying to mingle into real men's businesses!"

Silver harshly deposited the recipient amongst the rivulets of melted candle wax maculating the table, his hardened dark eyes locking themselves on the blue-green gaze of Red Hand Pete.

"And how much do you think I've been paid for my bureaucratic activities, Captain?" hissed the white-faced man. "For years I have worked in the London offices of the East India Trading Company, devoting myself to enrich others with my shoulders folded on ledgers, night and day. I had a straight-as-an-arrow mentality in my youth, stupidly thinking that my conscientiousness and my educated brains would pay off one day. Well, I could have waited until I would be over an hundred! The best years of my life flew by and those avaricious bastards wouldn't grant me a raise, no matter how much I've worked. Wanting money is part of human nature, but according to my so-called superiors, recognition and gratitude wasn't included in my contract!"

Silver spoke with such bitter tones that Red Hand Pete couldn't help but remembering his own resentment after his father had disinherited him: that fortune escaping his fingers had left a vile taste in his mouth, indeed!

"So?" asked the pirate, feigning detachment but getting inwardly interested in the man's story.

"So one day I got tired of waiting for their generosity, and allowed myself a much-deserved raise from the Company's filthy rich accounts. Nobody noticed anything, so after a while it became a habit to better my wages every month. And it was nice to move to a halfway decent place to live, buy better clothes, get a real seat at the theaters and pay a few visits to clean hired ladies. I deserved that ameliorated salary, more than my would-be betters, and people were starting to look up at me."

Red Hand Pete had a nasty smile: "Until the East India Trading Company leaders found about the missing money…"

"Aye," said John Silver with a grimace. "They called it _"Embezzlement" _while it was only a raise! But of course, they wouldn't hear my pleas – as for the trial, it was only a masquerade of justice with that corrupted judge barely listening to my incompetent attorney. He sentenced me to be deported in the Colonies in America, but little did I know at the time what it truly meant: my former employers had arranged things so I'd be sold to slavery!"

Those words brought out a laugh from Red Hand Pete: "Who are you trying to fool, Silver? The British authorities would never allow a white man to be a slave in America, not even a petty criminal who had clumsily stolen money!"

"It is true that white-skinned convicts cannot be treated as slaves in the Colonies, Captain. For pirates, though, that's a different matter…"

Silver rolled up his vest's sleeve and Red Hand Pete couldn't believe his own eyes: the letter "P" had been branded on the slender man's right forearm!

"That was a departing gift from the East India Trading Company, while I was jailed in Newgate Prison. My former employers wanted to make sure I'd never see freedom again, since pirates are the most despised criminals in society; and to add insult to injury, they earned a nice extra income from selling me! The trip to the Americas was terrible, with that self-righteous Captain who encouraged his crew to _"give Hell to the skinny pirate"_… And it was only a _hors d'oeuvre_ to what was awaiting me in a rice-plantation in Virginia: forced work, starvation, disease, beatings, all this under the approving eyes of my rich "owner" while his wife was taking bets upon my survival when her giggling friends came over for tea. Gosh, every night I've dreamed to wrap my hands around their fat necks and squeeze until their eyeballs explode!"

The blond-haired pirate was starting to like Silver!

"And then, I caught a bad fever and my owner, who feared contagion, entrusted me to the care of an elderly African woman, a healer, whose cabin was located on the farthest parts of the lands. Tatibah nursed me back to health, but our master didn't know that she used to be a powerful witch in her homeland. She treated me like her son, and she entrusted me with some secrets: I would have never believed in magic before meeting her, but there are truly forces out there… dark forces, which can be very useful once you've learned how to use them," said John Silver with a malicious smile, the gleam in his dark eyes shining a bit brighter.

"I became a very good apprentice under Tatibah's tutelage, but unfortunately our owner learned about our activities. He ordered her cabin to be torched down, along with the two of us; Tatibah got me out through a tunnel she had dug beneath her hut's floor. I begged her to come with me, but she told me I was her legacy to the world, and that I was to go to the Caribbean and finish my apprenticeship."

"And you've managed to escape?" asked Red Hand Pete, getting impressed in spite of himself by the intruder's resourcefulness. He knew by reputation that slavers rushed in pursuit of fugitive slaves with tracking dogs nicknamed _"Bloodhounds"._

"I did escape, hid in a ship in departure for Port Royal; once arrived, I became the Harbormaster's assistant, can you believe it? But since the Harbormaster was a corrupted old fool, just like the other customs officials, nobody bothered to ask questions about my past. Loyal servant of the King by day, student of the supernatural by night: that had been my quiet life for years."

Silver drained Red Hand's Pete rum, whipped his mouth clean with his cloak's sleeve, and when he resumed talking, the bitterness was back in his voice.

"With my magical knowledge, I gained a new fortune by keeping the Harbormaster under my control; embezzling money from the docks became easy as pie and I was beginning to see the end of my financial woes, but it was before that disgusting Lord Beckett arrived in Port Royal. To see that East India Trading Company's supreme head parading in the streets as if he owned the whole island… a nauseating sight if I've ever seen one. But I couldn't remain in Port Royal; he had brought along too many Royal Marines, his boot-licking flunkey Mercer was sniffing around, the risks of being discovered were too high. So I fled again, this time for Tortuga, and I've been staying there ever since."

"Why didn't you come back to Port Royal?" asked the _Conqueror_'s Captain. "Beckett is long gone!"

"Ah yes, but the hunt for pirates hasn't ended, has it? The local authorities are still very eager to hang gentlemen of fortune, or any person who are associated to them by blood or by crime. Besides, Tortuga has proven to be very interesting in my search for magical items. There is much more to see in this island than a bunch of rioting drunkards, firing their pistols at random!"

Red Hand Pete's face darkened at the renewed mention of enchanted objects; according to John Silver, he had one in his possession which would be helpful in making Turner reveal where the Dead Man's Chest was buried.

"Ah yes, the magic thingy you pretend it would be able to solve my problem!"

"Oh, I don't pretend, Captain Red: I can prove it!" and the pale man placed an octagon-shaped object on the table. He opened its lid, revealing the item to be a compass which seems to function abnormally: the disk was turning on its axis like a spinning-top, thus preventing the needle to point to the north.

"What, it's only a compass? But it's broken!"

"Correction, Captain: this magnetic marvel is much more than a navigational instrument. It has supernatural qualities, and its functions are not to point to the conventional direction. My compass directs towards whatever or whoever a person most desires."

Red Hand Pete laughed out loud, the sound adding to the deafening noise reigning inside the Faithful Bride tavern.

"This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life!"

"Oh, it is?" said Silver, apparently indifferent to the pirate's hilarity. "Well, just give me an occasion to confirm my statement and you'll see this compass works perfectly!"

"Fine!" answered Red Hand Pete, unable to resist a challenge. "Call for the serving wench and ask her why she's making such a face!"

John Silver half-hid his compass under a tattered and torn handkerchief, leaving enough room so his interlocutor could see it working; but he nonchalantly kept his fingers nearby the compass' fastener. Then he beckoned to the blonde-haired girl to come closer. She reluctantly agreed, while wearing an exasperated expression on her pretty features.

"What now?" asked the tavern's maid.

"Is there something troubling you, my dear?" asked Silver with a condescending tone. "We've noticed that a worry burdens your mind, consequently it would be only chivalrous from our part to help you."

"I've lost my gold earring, that's what is troubling me!" yelled the girl. "I'm sure that disgusting Annette has stolen it!"

"Now, now, gorgeous! Let's not make hasty accusations, savvy? The most important thing right now is to find that piece of jewelry, even if I am sincerely convinced that a woman of your rare beauty has no need for such decorations. May I ask for your name?"

"Isabelle."

"Do you really want to find your earring, Isabelle? Is it what your heart desires most?"

"Yes! It's a present from Lucas, my fiancé!" exclaimed the distressed girl with tears gathering in her eyes; half-covered by the handkerchief and under Red Hand Pete's unbelieving gaze, the compass' disk suddenly stopped its spinning and the fleur-de-lys needle steadily indicated the direction of the opposite side of the room.

"Well, Belle Isabelle, I am delighted to announce you that your gold earring is… right over there!" exclaimed the man with the ringed eyes while pointing his index finger towards the tavern's chimney.

"Over there?" said Isabelle, "But there is nothing but the chimney!"

"Ah, but inspect it attentively, my dear. Have you thought of looking on the mantel shelf? The inner hearth? The frame? Or the wood box, beneath the stoned base of the fireplace?"

Isabelle looked surprised at Silver's suggestions, but her wish to find her engagement present was too strong to question her customer. She sprang on her feet and walked directly to the chimney, starting her search.

"Do you really think she'll find her toy?" asked Red Hand Pete.

"My compass works to the perfection whenever a person desperately wants something, with all his or her heart," said John Silver. "Desperation is a feeling that can either destroy people or give them wings, depends on how you direct them for your own goals. And my "thingy" has been bestowed with magic means allowing it to read people's mind as easily as you'd would with a navigational chart."

"You've created this thing?"

"Yes, while in Port Royal, but it has been stolen from me during my flight. I've retrieved it only a few months ago: it was lying in the hands of an inebriated fool of a would-be pirate, who was drunk from sunrise to sunset. It revolted me to see such a fine magical object being in the possession of such an idiot, who was waving it around without any kind of consideration for its craftsmanship's or its powers… well, let's just conclude that said fool took his last drink from his own blood, savvy?"

A shriek of joy rang out nearby the tavern's fireplace: Isabelle had just found out her gold earring, which had fallen amongst the tree branches stocked in the wood box! Her colleagues applauded the serving maid, congratulating her in finding the missing jewelry, some of the customers whistled loudly, while Silver turned his _"I-told-you-so"_ satisfied face towards Will Turner's kidnapper.

Red Hand Pete was floored: this compass was really working! But he wanted another proof, so he told Silver:

"I want a rematch! Ask a person what he or she wants the most!"

"You're not easily convinced, are you, Captain?" said the slender man with an ambiguous grimace, but he signaled to an old, white-bearded man, dressed in rags and who obviously hadn't had a bath in months, to come to their table.

"Whaddaya want, guv'?" asked the old man with a smile showing the rare yellow teeth still standing inside his mouth.

"It is not about what I want, my friend, but about what do you want the most. I'd like to know the most profound desire of your heart!"

"Me? Whadd'ya want ta know what ol' Burnaby want? Nobudy 'as ever asked me that befur!"

"Well, Burnaby, it is because I'd like to show you the right direction to reach your goal. My advice will be free of charge, and you'll gain what you want: you would have a hard time to find a better deal than this one in your life, I daresay!"

The old tramp looked puzzled for a moment, shuffling on his feet and scratching at his skinny torso under his ruined shirt, and then he finally said:

"I wanna find me dog… He disappears all da time… Act as if he wanna anuther master, he don't like me smell…"

Red Hand Pete could hardly blame the animal: years of captaincy had immunized his nose against every kind of body odor, but Burnaby smelt like a battalion of Krakens opening their jaws at the same time! Still discreetly hidden beneath the handkerchief, the compass' disk turned on its axis for a few seconds, before immobilizing itself in the direction of the tavern's kitchen.

"Burnaby, I am glad to inform you that your dog is currently in the kitchen!" announced Silver.

"He is? Oh, Gud bless ya, guv!"

"You're very welcome," said the man with the ringed eyes while trying to escape from Burnaby's pestilential breath. "Now you'd better retrieve you four-legged companion before the tavern-keeper finds out about his presence in his distinguished establishment!"

But that word of advice came a bit too late: a long succession of curses erupted, followed by a thud and the yelping of an animal, and then a bedraggled and unkempt black dog was kicked out of the kitchen by the tavern-keeper, who was waving a carving-knife in his hand while yelling: "If I ever catch you devouring my chicken again, you'll disembowel you!"

"Bozo!" exclaimed Burnaby, rushing to grab his dog by the fur of its neck, much to the animal's dismay since it looked less than enthusiastic to be reunited with its smelly master.

* * *

Hours after Silver's demonstration, the two men had been getting gloriously drunk in the Faithful Bride's tavern. They had enjoyed a free bottle of rum, compliments of a grateful Isabelle who had also provided another tankard, and the alcohol had done a great job in loosening their tongues. They both had a long-time experience with spirits so they could keep a relatively clear mind while indulging themselves, clinking together their blackjacks and exchanging anecdotes.

After listening to Silver's fake story, Red Hand Pete had gone and tell about the hardships he had suffered in his life, especially the part about his father's unjustly disinheriting him, thus sentencing him to a life of crime. His interlocutor had grunted accordingly, neither showing boredom nor toadyism, and Red Hand Pete was getting more and more interested in John Silver. In fact, he was starting to believe this man could actually hold the solutions to all his problems! John Silver, for all his apparent frailty, had resourcefulness, good nerves and a healthy appetite for gold; on top of it all, he didn't mind wandering into the darkness.

Red Hand Pete needed that kind of man at his side, an assistant who would serve him with discretion and efficiency; he would be a more reliable ally than Long, the would-be torturer who had turned out to be a buffoon with delusions of grandeur! In his privileged childhood, he had devoured every book about kings, real or fictional, and they shared a common denominator: they all had a wise advisor, one standing high amongst the others, who had helped them during their reign. Silver was obviously well-versed in magic and Red Hand Pete would need the man's experience to gain some more power and then, nothing would stop him to become the immortal Emperor of the Seas. Every great ruler needed a wise warlock, after all!

He leaned over the table and whispered:

"I don't suppose you want to sell me this compass, do you?"

"That would be impossible, Captain: I've made this object with my own hands, meaning only I is able to use it accordingly. For any other man, this compass would be nothing but a broken instrument that should be thrown away. But here's my offer: I enter at your service and use my knowledge of the supernatural to help you in gaining riches, in exchange of comfortable wages and a private cabin aboard your mighty ship. You'll understand that my… practice cannot suffer from interferences or intrusions by your crewmembers. Of course, my activities won't be subjected to any kind of interrogation from you or your men, and we must agree that any magical item discovered during pillaging would be rightfully mine, without contestation."

"If you can make my prisoner talk, then we have a deal! So far, he has endured all the interrogation techniques my Chinese servant could think of. I've even used the cat-o'-nine-tails on him last night, and yet he wouldn't talk! Sometimes, I think he has become mute after I've captured him!"

Silver stretched his body against his chair, apparently looking perfectly at ease with the idea of a man being tortured for days. His dark eyes were shining like obsidian stones under the Caribbean sun.

"Ah, yes. According to your men, this prisoner is of supernatural origins. Well, Captain, the solution to your problem is quite simple. To obtain answers from a man gifted with magical powers, you simply use a magical object!"

Red Hand Pete's aquamarine eyes widened at the logic of those words: but of course, Silver was right! Turner was a man bestowed with incredible powers by Calypso and he'd become the Master of the Seas. However, the _Conqueror_'s Captain had been able to neutralize Turner with his brilliant plan, making him unable to move and thus to escape; but the prisoner's unyielding resistance to Long's tortures could be explained by his nature, and it would take months, or maybe a year, to have him surrender the location of the Dead Man's Chest, and waiting for such a long length of time was quite out of the question!

A bit tipsy from his consummation of rum, the blond-haired pirate asked:

"And you think your magical compass would lead me to my prisoner's secret?"

"If your captive's secret is the dearest wish of his heart, he will betray himself by thinking about it and the compass would point directly to its direction!" answered John Silver in a slurred voice.

Red Hand Pete roared in laughter while tears of mirth were falling down on his flushed face, and it took him a long time before he could regain his breath before saying: "It is his **heart** I am looking for!"

"I beg your pardon?"

The Conqueror's Captain suddenly quieted down; he was a bit annoyed by his half-drunken confession, but he got somehow reassured by watching Silver's eyes getting wider as realization dawned on him.

"His heart?... No! You don't mean… You don't actually mean that… Are you going to tell me that…" stuttered the slender man while Red Hand Pete was sniggering openly at his drinking companion's astonishment. Finally, Silver blurted out:

"_Your prisoner is the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_?!"_

"Got it one in one," answered proudly the _Conqueror_'s commander, inwardly rejoicing at the sight of the impressed Silver.

"Gosh, when your men mentioned your supernatural prisoner, I thought they were talking about a magician, like a voodoo priest or a sorcerer from England! I was far to imagine it was The _Flying Dutchman_'s Captain! But how did you manage to accomplish this incredible feat? He is an immortal, entrusted by the heathen goddess Calypso herself to ferry the souls of the unfortunate sailors who had died at sea! He has been gifted with so much power it is impossible to wound or to capture him; he's invulnerable since he's magically able to live without his heart! Oh, I've heard about the _Dutchman_'s skirmish with Lord "Bucket-of-vermin", a few years ago, but I haven't paid much attention to those intoxicated gossips… And you have managed to capture Calypso's protégé? But how in the world have you succeeded in keeping him imprisoned? "

"That, my friend, is something you'll find out if you accept to climb aboard my ship! Telling too early would spoil the surprise. But I can assure you the _Dutchman_'s Captain won't escape from my hold, and he will never see the ocean again after I am done with him!"

"You want to know where his heart is buried to become immortal!" exclaimed Silver, looking elated at the thought. "Gaining command of the ghost ship is what you want the most?"

"Ah, who cares about the _Dutchman_ and its moronic crew? It is nothing but a sunken wreck lying on the seabed by now! No, I have better ambitions than ferry souls and being a goddess' servant: I want immortality to pillage ships and be richer than Croesus; I want to roam the oceans forever, free from death and injuries, and gain so many riches I'll become the nightmare of all the crowned heads. And I won't forget my allies, either: any man willing to fight for me, or to help me in my goal, will be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams."

"It's a magnificent project, Captain Red Hand Pete!" said John Silver, his dangerous gleam shining madly in his eyes. "Immortality would give you the ultimate leverage against all representatives of authority! No one would be ever able to stop you! And with my knowledge of magic, I will protect you from spies and crooks, and warn you about riches-loaded ships heading your way before they would even leave port! You have found the unique way to collect all the wealth of this world without suffering from any kind of consequences!"

"Aye, but for this, I need to find the heart of the _Dutchman_'s Captain: when it is in my possession, I will stab it right under the prisoner's eyes, to make him understand that I've become the new Master of the Seas before sending his soul straight to Hell. Afterwards, Calypso herself will be incapable to do anything against me!"

"Captain Red, I am your man! I will pack my gear at once and jump aboard your ship within the hour. And I will get an answer from your captive, without wasting your time with classical means of torture which wouldn't work on a supernatural man, anyway."

Red Hand Pete and John Silver drank to their future success with enthusiasm. But the inebriated _Conqueror_'s Captain was so in awe with his own intelligence, about him finding both a compass and a man able to loosen Turner's tongue in a single shot, he failed to notice that John Silver, a.k.a. Captain Jack Sparrow under a clever disguise, was looking at him with a mysterious smile on his face…

"_Red Hand Pete, you have more pride than intelligence!" _thought the former Captain of the_ Black Pearl. "A few compliments here and there to flatter you, some allusions to injustice to exasperate your bitterness, a magic pedigree with an elaborated tale about slavery in Virginia, and you've swam right into my fishing net. Of course, it had been a bit of luck to spot that piece of jewelry falling from Isabelle's ear into the wood box, just before starting our meeting; and I've known old Burnaby for years, he has only two interests in life: rum and his dog. So my demonstration wasn't difficult: __**I **__**wanted with all my heart**_ _Isabelle to find her earring and Burnaby his dog, otherwise my brilliant plan would have been shot to pieces, as well as my inestimable person. Later, aboard your sorry excuse for a ship, I will __**want with all my heart **__to lead you in the direction of what **I **want the most, and it's not the Dead Man's Chest or its keeper. Oh yes, my compass works perfectly in pointing towards my deepest desires, since the maelstrom battle…"_

Jack Sparrow congratulated himself for a job well done: with the help of his unaware and innocent accomplices Isabelle and Burnaby, he had succeeded in convincing Red Hand Pete to employ him; in return, Jack had received an engraved invitation to climb freely on the _Conqueror_, where his kidnapped little brother was held!

TBC…


	14. He's my brother

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- To Sonjadore: thank you for your kind words! I'm trying to post a new chapter every week ;-)

- A big "Thank you" to all the persons who have added this story on their Favorites' and Alerts' lists!

* * *

**Chapter ****13: He's my brother**

Aboard the _Seref_, Yusuf, the First Mate, knocked on the Great Cabin's door with a big smile on his face.

"_Girin!_ (Come in!)" answered the gruff voice of his Captain, and Yusuf entered Ammand's private quarters. The corsair was studying his navigational charts while his guest, Master Bootstrap, was sipping a glass of tea, sitting in a corner. Both men looked preoccupied and it seemed they hadn't talked for a long time, but as soon as Yusuf entered, they jumped on their feet with a thousand questions in their eyes. After Jack Sparrow had explained his plan, the Turkish galley the _Seref_ had quietly followed the brig _The Conqueror_ until it had reached Tortuga. But while Red Hand Pete's vessel had moored in the harbor, Ammand had preferred to drop anchor in a more remote place to avoid detection by their prey and unwanted questions by the inebriated insulars. Then, the Captain had sent two of his sailors to keep an eye on Jack, with orders to interfere promptly in case the marvelous plan would fail and Sparrow's skin would be compromised in the process.

The spies had just come back from the craziest town of the Caribbean and after listening to their reports, Yusuf had wasted no time to alert his Captain about what they had witnessed.

"So? What news?" asked Ammand.

"Very good news, _Kaptan_, very good indeed!" answered Yusuf. "Kaan and Galip have returned from the Faithful Bride. They confirm that _Kaptan_ Sparrow has met with Red Hand Pete in this tavern; they don't know what he told the enemy, but somehow Sparrow has convinced him: they drank for hours, and when they finally left the Faithful Bride, they were acting as if they were the best friends in the world! The last time Galip and Kaan had seen Sparrow and Red Hand Pete, they were heading for the _Conqueror_."

Ammand and Bill Turner exchanged a quick glance.

"It seems that _Serçe_ has succeeded in his mad scheme!" exclaimed the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea. "When he told us about his idea of gaining Red Hand Pete's trust so he'd be allowed to climb aboard the _Conqueror_, I really thought the rum had definitively fried his brains!"

"But his plan worked, Captain Ammand," said the elder Turner. "Jack has now access to the _Conqueror_, meaning he'll be able to find where Will is held but, first and foremost, what kind of manacles Red Hand Pete is using to keep him captive on his ship."

"Why are you so worried about manacles, Master Bootstrap? If the prisoner is bound, we'll just break his chains with a pistol's shot. I've lost count of the times I've done that in my career!"

The big man suddenly looked embarrassed, darting nervous glances in the direction of the First Mate. Suddenly realizing his guest didn't want to talk about his son in front of a witness, Ammand talked to Yusuf in Turkish: first to give him orders to ready the _Seref_ to sail at once; and second, to tell him to reward Galip and Kaan for their good spying work. After Yusuf had retired, Ammand turned to face the ex-doomed pirate, with his bushy eyebrows tightly knotted above his amber-colored eyes.

"Master Bootstrap, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Actually, Captain, it is more about the worry that is currently eating me alive!"

"I understand your distress, especially after _Serçe_ said about your son…"

"Yes, and I'm having a very hard time controlling some murderous ideas! But what kills me is I haven't been able to find out how Red Hand Pete is keeping my son captive aboard his ship. You must understand, Captain Ammand: after the maelstrom battle, Will became the commander of the _Flying Dutchman_ and his captaincy was earned at a very heavy price. But he also gained some incredible powers in the process; the most important one is being able to "materialize" himself on another ship, as quickly as you would snap your fingers. Will has used this ability many times since he became our Captain, and it had been very useful to search for survivors in flotsams. I'm lacking time to make the list of all his gifts, but they can be resumed like this: _as long as Will remains on the ocean, nothing can hurt or tie him_. So how on Earth Red Hand Pete is preventing Will from escaping from his ship, and how does he maintain him in a state of vulnerability so he'd be tortured?"

"And you're afraid the bounds Red Hand Pete is using against your son might imperil Sparrow's plans?"

"Aye," said Bootstrap Bill while turning to face the Great Cabin's walls, in an effort to hide the tears gathering in his blue eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was raw with barely-contained emotion:

"If Jack fails, we won't have any other choice than open fire on _The_ _Conqueror_ and I cannot start to imagine the consequences. We know about Red Hand Pete's motives, his search for the Dead Man's Chest, but too many questions have been left unanswered before Jack went to Tortuga and now… I fear he had overestimated his abilities, and something will happen to him before he'd have the opportunity to free Will."

"Master Bootstrap, whatever chain is keeping your son prisoner aboard _The Conqueror_, may it be made of iron or of a supernatural material, I sincerely doubt it could resist _Serçe_'s mind!"

Ammand chuckled lightly at his own words, but Bill Turner was too tired, too angry and too worried to be reassured about his friend's abilities to survive a dangerous spying mission. Besides, there was something else that preoccupied him…

"Jack may be impossible to figure out. But in spite of his wild talks and his constant drunkenness, he hasn't hesitated to help me finding Will. After the abduction, I had nobody else to turn to – our ship was damaged, the crew was completely disoriented, and I can't make a good plan to save my life. Sparrow was my only hope, but I didn't know at the time if he'd be willing to enlist in my quest. He accepted spontaneously and I am ashamed to say this, but he has surprised me! I thought for sure I would have to buy his services with a share of the diamonds, but he didn't ask for anything in return. He's a better friend than I'd thought him to be," concluded Bill with a sigh.

Ammand remained silent for a moment before putting his hand on his guest's shoulder.

"My people have a saying: _"Gerçek dost kara günde belli olur."_ It means, "_In times of need, you learn who is a real friend."_ You're not the only one who is finding it difficult to understand _Serçe_, Master Bootstrap. Then again, who wouldn't? With that nonsense flooding out of his mouth, he'd try the patience of a holy man! But his very presence at your side proves that he wants to rescue your son as much as you do. He wouldn't deliberately walk into that viper's nest Red Hand Pete calls a ship, armed only with his tongue, if he didn't have a good reason to do so! Hold on to hope, Master Bootstrap: with _Serçe_ gaining the trust of Red Hand Pete, it's only a matter of time before he'd send his signal for a boarding party and… our enemy will pay dearly for his actions, past and present."

* * *

Aboard _The Conqueror_, the men had done their usual chores with a lot of grumbling. Too many sleepless nights had made them bold, not caring about eventual disciplinary measures from their commanding officer who was in a terrible mood from Long's failure and the damages inflicted on the ship's binnacle. In fact, the crewmembers' resentment towards their Captain had increased with the brutal murder of Anderson, the helmsman, and the interdiction to go ashore for a night of drink and enjoyments in Tortuga. Red Hand Pete had been adamant about that point: all his sailors had to remain on board and wait for his return. But it had been hours since he had left to seek for a new compass, and the men were getting impatient and angry, almost reaching the point where they would consider mutiny. The mood onboard was somber, indeed.

Only one of the crewmembers wasn't bothered by this sullen atmosphere at all; in fact it was greatly serving his purpose. Tony had been waiting for his chance to go down to the orlop deck without raising attention and so far, the men had been too absorbed by their complains to notice the old man quietly descending the stairs. Long was nowhere in sight: after he had failed in learning Turner's secret, he had been roughly beaten by his Master – much to the crew's delight – so he was probably nursing his wounds in his own cabin.

Tony knew the Captain had forbidden the sailors to go to the place where the prisoner was kept. But for the first time of his life, he was deliberately disobeying a direct order. He had been shanghaied into service after his ship had been lost with all hands years ago, and since he had been living in a constant state of submission to Red Hand Pete. But those past few days, the white-bearded man's terror had been replaced by another emotion: shame.

Yes, Tony was ashamed for his passive role in Turner's kidnapping and torture. It wasn't the first time he had witnessed Red Hand Pete's cruelty but this time, he wouldn't turn a blind eye and pretend that nothing was happening. Tony had overcome his mislead fears about the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ being a monster in disguise – the horrible cries of pain heard for almost four days in a row had convinced him of Will's humanity – and now, he wanted to help him. It hadn't been possible to do it earlier: that accursed Long wouldn't leave the prisoner, tormenting him night and day to gain a confession. But right now the Captain was on an errand, his servant was sulking somewhere, and the crewmembers were distracted: the coast was clear!

Tony reached the last level of the ship, below the water line, and he looked around to make sure no one had followed him. But the orlop deck was silent, apart from the faint squeaking of rats, and barely lightened by a two lanterns oscillating at the end of ropes hanging from the ceiling. After a few minutes, the old man's eyes got accustomed to the semi-darkness and he could make out the contours of a large crate… and the young man buried waist-deep inside it.

Tony had a hard time to refrain from crying: Long had been… merciless. Turner's arms were held upright and bound together by a chain, his eyes were closed, and his head was bowing in exhaustion under a curtain of long, dirty hair. His chest was covered with blood and, as the old man came closer, he could see there were deep burns that would take weeks to cicatrize, puncture wounds drawing some strange patterns on the skin, angry slashes from a whip, and many other injuries that he couldn't identify. On top of everything, some black-furred rats had climbed on the soil-filled crate to gather around Turner, looking at the victim with hungry eyes while clawing at his naked, wounded torso. Those blasted creatures were getting ready to eat him alive!

His state made Tony suddenly remember the image of a martyred saint he had seen on a fresco painted on a church's wall, decades ago. Tony recalled his sorrow at the heartbreaking sight of an unarmed, peaceful man being subjected to a horrible death, and how revolted he had felt against the executioners! But years of experience had taught him the hard way about some men's unlimited cruelty, especially towards people who couldn't protect themselves. Will's brutalized body, surrounded by disgusting critters, was another demonstration of wickedness…. And for Tony, it was once too much.

Filled with revulsion, Tony stepped on a smaller crate to be at eye-level with the prisoner, and then he lashed out at the rodents, which scurried away at all speed, squeaking in protest at the rough treatment they were receiving. With a few well-placed and violent kicks, fueled by his imagination where he was stomping on Red Hand Pete's head, Tony efficiently discouraged the rats from hanging around the orlop deck. One of them stupidly tried to bite him and its jaw got snapped in two by the impact of the old sailor's boot!

After the last animal had turned its wormy-looking tail to disappear in the shadows, the seaman slid two fingers under Will's chin to make him raise his head: in spite of the dim light, he could see that Turner's face was also covered with bruises, needle marks and blood dripping from his mouth and nose. The young man's life was hanging by a thread: his breathing was almost imperceptible, his skin was terribly pale, he looked completely boneless and for a horrible moment, Tony thought he had arrived too late.

But after Will felt someone's hands gently brushing the matted hair away from his face, his eyes fluttered open at the cost of an enormous effort. His vision was blurry so he couldn't make out the features of the stranger hovering so close to him, and he whispered feebly:

"N-No m-more… No… more…"

"Shh, lad, I ain't gonna 'urt ye," said Tony softly, still afraid that someone might discover him. They would have to remain quiet; otherwise, if somebody showed up, he'd have a hard time to explain his presence in the orlop deck or, even worse, he could be caught on the act of being compassionate towards the Captain's prisoner.

Tony took out a leather flask from beneath his dirty shirt, uncorked it and pried open Will's parched lips to ease some drinking water down his throat. But the kid was too weak to swallow it, and the water spilled all over his chin and torso, getting mixed with the blood and sweat. Tony took a clean rag out of his pocket and soaked it with water; he squeezed the linen so a few drops would fall inside the captive's mouth. This time, it was more successful: Will swallowed the life-giving liquid, but not without difficulty since his tongue was swollen from thirst. The white-bearded sailor went on with his ministrations, giving Turner little amounts of water – he remembered that making a wounded man drink too quickly could only result in retching, and it would worsen the dehydration. He used the rag in an attempt to clean Will's face and neck, but the wounds were too numerous and it was saturated with caked blood.

Tony cursed himself for not bringing more linen, when Will muttered:

"W-Who…. are you…"

"Name's Tony, lad. Sshh, do not talk. I ain't gonna do anything to 'urt ye, I promise."

"T-Tony?"

"Aye, now be quiet. The Captain would 'ang me fer sure if he find me 'ere with ye. Not s'posed to help prisoners, see?"

Tony cupped the back of Will's head and gave him some more water, desperately hoping that it would give him enough strength to make him break his bounds and escape from the ship. But Will had stayed buried in earth for much too long: not only the element had inflicted him great pain, but it had also completely annihilated his powers and it would take months before he'd regained them again. And how could he manage to get out of the soil-filled crate on his own, while being gravely wounded and exhausted to the point of not being able to stand? No one, not even Tony, would have enough courage to free him.

The water slowly brought Will back to awareness, and with it the unbearable feeling of sharp-edged spikes piercing his lower body, still buried deep inside the crate. He moaned loudly and Tony panicked, looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming; little did he know that Will had recognized the older man: it was the same one who had been taking care of the dying boy, just before falling into Red Hand Pete's clutches. A low groan escaped from his throat, and then Will whispered:

"Am s-so… sorry…"

Tony's eyes widened: what would the prisoner apologize about?

"Whatchoo mean, lad?"

"The boy," said Will with a sob, "He's d-d-dead… his soul… lost… am s-sor…ry!"

Tony dropped the rag on the floor, absolutely stunned by those words: this youngster had been abducted, beaten up, tortured and starved for days, but he was sorry because he hadn't been able to help Andy? In spite of his terrible ordeal, Turner was still feeling concerned about the boy's soul, and he was devastated at the thought it might be lost forever in the wideness of the ocean?

"How deep is yer 'eart, lad?" asked Tony, unaware of the significance of the red scar on Will's chest; he added in a conspiratorial tone: "Andy's not dead. After Red 'and Pete trapped ye, I 'id the boy in the lower gun deck and I've been taken care of 'im since as often as I could. Poor little mite's stayed passed out for two days, and 'e woke up and it seem 'e's goin' to make it. I hid 'im because I was afraid the Cap'tain wuld use the boy ta force ye ta talk by torturing 'im, too, but it seem he 'ad forgutten all about Andy."

Unbelievably, a tiny smile spread on Will's lips.

"An..dy… a-a-live?"

"Aye. 'e is alive and on the mend, no thanks ta that bastard Red 'and Pete!"

Tony stashed his empty flask back inside his shirt before climbing down the smaller crate to retrieve the bloodied rag. But when he looked up, he felt his blood turning into ice in his veins: Shiao Long, his broken nose sporting an angry-red bruise, was standing right in front of him!

Tony slowly got up on his feet, his heart beating loudly against his ribcage. Long was the only person onboard that he wasn't afraid of, but he was in trouble for being at the wrong place at the wrong time!

"What are you doing here?" asked Long with a voice full of venom.

"Who wanna know?" shot the older man back, feigning annoyance while discreetly hiding the rag inside his closed fist.

"You dare to be insolent towards me!" hissed the Chinese. "I'll have your head for this; I'll tell the Master about your arrogance!"

Paradoxically, the threat reassured Tony: the Captain's lackey wanted to report him for being impertinent, not for his unexplained presence in the orlop deck and he hadn't seen him giving water to the captive.

"Oh, I'm so scared! As if the Cap'tain wuld listen ta ye, anyway!"

"I have a high position in this ship's hierarchy, you worm! I am the Master's right hand and his confident!"

"Aye, ye know a lot about 'is right 'and: ye got it square in yer face! Well the Cap'tain isn't pleased wif ye, so go ahead and rat to 'im, ya snitch, and all ye'll get is 'is left 'and smacking ya ugly snout, too!"

Long was seething with anger, but Tony was still strong and able to defend himself while he had never been good in hand-on-hand combat. The Chinaman had always preferred to eliminate his enemies by killing them in their sleep, or by using poison or stab wounds in the back. Besides, murdering a sailor would be hard to explain to Red Hand Pete, who disliked this kind of action if he weren't the one committing it, and Long had fallen from grace – hard, especially against the ship's mainmast – so it would be very unlikely that his "Master" would listen to his complains! That foul-smelling sailor had probably come down the orlop deck to get a glimpse at Long's handiwork out of morbid curiosity, and he wasn't worth a moment of his time.

The Chinese considered with silent hate the half-conscious prisoner, the cause of all his troubles: he had been thoroughly humiliated by Red Hand Pete; now, the miserable ship slaves dared to openly mock him! And for the life of him, Long couldn't see where his interrogation techniques had failed. He had used them all his life on countless men, some of them physically much stronger than Turner. But after two days, at most, all his victims had cried for mercy, begged him to ask them what he wanted to know, and implored for a final end to their sufferings. Only once did a man have managed to resist for three days, just before the pain had driven him to madness!

So how this prisoner could endure his torments for five days, almost six? Red Hand Pete had told him Turner was the protégé of a heathen deity named Calypso, but he was born a human; so he must have a breaking point, like everybody else! But he couldn't think more about this because Tony spoke again:

"Yep, the Cap'tain is gunna get ya good, Long. Ye did ah great job in makin' the prisoner scream, but yu're sure lousy at makin' him talk!"

Long looked if he would punch the sailor, but Tony's face hardened and he took a defensive pose, silently defying his opponent to dare silencing him. Exasperated by his failure and his frustrations, the Chinese yelled a long litany of insults in his native language, but Tony couldn't possibly care less about words he'd never understand. Then Long turned heels and reached out for the pillar where the chain holding Will's arms was tied.

"Hey! Whatchoo are doin'?" asked Tony.

"Silence, you vermin!" hissed Long while trying to unknot the chain, but to no avail: Andrews had done a good job securing it at the pillar.

"Whattaya doing? You wanna untie the chain?" It looked almost like the Chinese wanted to pull Turner out of the crate, but Tony dismissed this absurd idea quickly: as if Long would try to help the prisoner! So what kind of a vicious plan had formed inside his mind?

"Leave me alone, you fool! Go back to your rum-soaked shipmates and get out of here!"

"I wanna know what ye're doin'! Why da ya want to untie the chain?" said Tony while grabbing the small man by the arm.

"You dare! You dare mistreating me!" yelped Long, who was holding on the chain for dear life while looking thoroughly outraged that one of his inferiors would manhandle him. "I'll cut off your head with a dull knife!"

"**What's going on here?**" thundered a voice, and both men jumped at the sight of Red Hand Pete, who was looking at them with murder clearly written in his blue-green gaze. His sudden presence was already frightening, but the presence of a livid man, with wild black hair and eyes darker than sin, standing two steps behind, was even worse: he had the appearance of an accountant from Hell!

Tony and Long swallowed nervously: the Captain was drunk – that was obvious from the flushed skin of his face – and his temper could be terrible under the influence. And they had no idea who the stranger was, apart that he wasn't a sailor or a prisoner.

"M-Master, I can explain…" started Long.

"Silence, Long!" roared Red Hand Pete, and the small man cowered in fear. "Tony, what happened here?"

The old sailor had never denounced a shipmate in his life, but the Chinaman wasn't a comrade, just a dirty ass-licker who deserved only contempt after he had tortured an innocent man. Besides, there was the matter of Andy, hidden in the lower gun deck: if anything should happen to Tony, there would be no one to bring food to the boy and change his bandages. So he seized his chance to exonerate himself from blame by answering: "Mister Long wanted ta untie the chain, Sir!"

"What do you have to say, Long?" asked Red Hand Pete with a very dangerous voice.

The Chinese could hardly deny his actions: his fingers were still entangled in the chain's links!

"P-Please, Master, I just wanted to pull the captive out of the soil a bit. I thought that if you'd allow me to unearth his abdomen, I could use my questioning items on his genitals and…"

Tony didn't have the time to be disgusted: Red Hand Pete smashed his fist on Long's face, breaking his nose a second time and making the smaller man fly through the orlop deck!

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THE PRISONER MUST BE KEPT IN THE CRATE AT ALL TIMES, YOU IDIOT? DO YOU WANT TO GIVE HIM A CHANCE TO RECOVER HIS POWERS AND ESCAPE? CAN'T YOU REMEMBER THE SIMPLEST ORDERS?" yelled the _Conqueror_'s commander. He looked like he was going to draw out his pistol and shoot at his so-called devoted servant. For a moment, Tony thought that the stranger's face had paled even more at the sight of Turner, but then again, maybe the insufficient light had played a trick on his eyes.

Red Hand Pete started to beat up Long again, when the clerk-lookalike's voice rose calmly:

"Trying to obtain a confession from a man by "working" on his private parts? Tsk, tsk, how old-fashioned… How unimaginative… How trite! That idea is really the last resort of the incapable and the useless! No wonder your tormentor hasn't been able to gain the tiniest scrap of information from your prisoner, if he only uses those outdated concepts!"

The man looked a bit unsure on his legs, as if he was also drunk or he hadn't stepped foot on a ship for a very long time; however, his demeanors were calm, his dark eyes were shining and he had a bone-chilling smile on his face, like he was inwardly sharing a private joke with the Prince of Darkness in person. Tony felt shivers crawling down on his spine while looking at the foreigner, and was starting to think it hadn't been a good idea to try and help the prisoner. But the quietly-asked question worked wonders on Red Hand Pete's irritated mood: he suddenly lost all his interest in hitting Long to turn towards the white-faced man with the ringed eyes, asking:

"See what I have to deal with, Mister Silver?"

"It appears to me, Captain Red Hand Pete, that the problem isn't your prisoner, but your servant. Not only he doesn't seem able to comprehend that his techniques won't work on a man gifted with supernatural powers, but he persists on making the same mistake over and over again because he cannot admit his defeat. You're a poor loser, aren't you, Mister Long?"

"That imbecile… I never should have listened to him!"

"Oh well, at least we have a much more efficient method in making the prisoner talk. Should we start the procedure I have mentioned to you, Captain?"

"By all means, Mister Silver! You're right, let's not waste time any longer. Tony, scram! You have nothing to do here!"

Tony didn't have to be asked twice to obey: whatever that living corpse, Silver, had planned to do, it couldn't be good for Turner and the old sailor didn't want to see what was going to happen next. He climbed the stairs as fast as he could, a part of him rejoicing that he hadn't been caught in trying to help the young man, but another part was also desperate that his ministrations had all been in vain and soon, cries of pain would come out of the _Conqueror_'s bowels.

* * *

"Now, let's see…" said Captain Jack Sparrow while slowly walking towards the large crate imprisoning Bill Turner's son. His heart was beating wildly beneath his shirt: his brother… his little brother was in such a state! His body was nothing by a huge wound and he didn't have enough strength within him to hold his head. He looked like he had gone through twenty shipwrecks! The memory of Davy Jones stabbing Will during the maelstrom battle came back to his mind and the auto-proclaimed most famous pirate of the Caribbean felt like gagging and screaming at the same time.

_Oh, __I'll need to drink a whole barrel of rum after this! Baby bro, what have they done to you?_

Jack could feel anger making his blood boil under his blemish makeup and for one, crazy minute he considered attacking Red Hand Pete and his lackey on the spot, but he wasn't foolish or drunk enough to compromise Will's chances of rescue. Pete wasn't a newcomer with a sword, and Wang Tao had warned them about Long's killing techniques.

_Stick to the plan, Jacky__: there is a hostile audience watching…_

"There is way too much light in here," said Jack aloud, and he deftly extinguished the lantern closest to Will, increasing the semi-darkness reigning in the orlop deck. Then he climbed on the same box Tony had used as a step and, in a casual movement to steady his balance, he laid his hand on the big crate's fillings.

The ex-commander of the _Black Pearl_ didn't need a light to understand what was beneath his fingertips: soil. The crate had been filled with soil, and Will was buried to the waist in it.

So, that was how Red Hand Pete had managed to shackle him! Jack had suspected it since the beginning, after Bill had told him the circumstances of the abduction, but he needed a confirmation so he hadn't shared his suspicions with the elder Turner or with Ammand. So, it seemed Jack had been right in his deductions. Land was something Davy Jones had dreaded more than anything. Like every tyrant, Jones had loved to watch innocents suffer but he had been petrified at the thought of his self being hurt. The Master of the Seas was allowed to step foot on land only once every ten years, otherwise he'd loose his powers and be subjected to great physical pain.

_To think Will had been __buried in this element for days! He's as helpless as a fish out of the water! Oh, just you wait, Red Hand Pete!_

Jack got out his compass from his coat's pocket, opened the lid and the disk started turning in the earnest. His voice took some hypnotic inflexions and while he kept the navigational instrument nearby the red scar barring his kid brother's injured chest, he started murmuring to Will:

"Hello, Captain… Please, do not be afraid… I know you've been hurt, but it's over now… Your tormentor is gone, and he won't come back… You're safe… You're safe… Your secret hasn't passed your lips… Don't be afraid…"

Red Hand Pete approached the soil-filled crate, but Jack motioned him to remain in the background. At the same time, Will moaned softly and opened his eyes again, but he was too weak to distinguish anything in the gloominess of the room, not even the white-faced man that had replaced Tony in front of him.

"Your secret… It is in your heart, isn't it, Captain?" crooned Sparrow while his compass' disk spun on its axis. "Oh yes, it is in your heart… Your heart…. You have hidden your secret in your heart… You are safe… That was pretty clever, from someone so young… Yes, you have secured your secret in a place and no one knows where it is, except you…"

Long looked incredulously at his Captain's guest: what in the name of all unholy demons was that escapee from Hell doing?

Jack kept on talking, while inwardly repeating his own mantra: _"I know what I want; I know what I want; compass, point the needle to the thing I want the most…"_: "Your heart is your secret, Captain… You have hidden it in a safe place… It is safe… It is safe… And now, you want it back… Don't worry; you won't be hurt anymore… You just want your secret back, don't you? You want it back… It has been years, Captain, and you are tired… You have been sailing for years; it is now high time to make port… You want to go home… You need to go home… And you need your heart to go home…"

Will could hardly see, but he could hear the soft words whispered in his ears. Oh yes, he longed for home… For Elizabeth, their son, for love… He missed his wife so badly! He wanted to hug Little William! He knew that Elizabeth's faithfulness would break the curse… Curses could be lifted, like the one which had changed the mutinous pirates into walking skeletons… Her true love would set him free and they'd live happily ever after together… Will smiled at the thought…

"I can help you to go home… I want to help you, Captain… But you have to help me… Where is your heart, Captain? Oh, you can trust me… I have chased away the monsters that had been hurting you… They wanted your secret, but you haven't talked: you're so brave! But now, you are tired… You are tired… You want to go home, you want to be safe… Wanting to go home is normal, Captain… But you need your heart to go home… Your heart… You had buried it, and it location is a secret, but you need it… you want it… The monsters have hurt you, and you cannot move… Tell me where your heart is, Captain, and I'll get it for you… I am your friend, I want to help you… You need help to go home… Your heart is waiting for you… where is it?" asked Jack, who carried on thinking: _"I know what I want; compass, point the needle to the thing I want the most…"_

Red Hand Pete snickered quietly at Silver's words: he was actually persuading the prisoner that it was safe to reveal the location of the Dead Man's Chest! Talk about deviousness! It reminded him of a demonstration made by a snake charmer he had seen in India, years ago: the emaciated man had been able to make the cobras swing slowly at the end of their tails, completely entranced by the music coming from his flute!

"Your heart… You must have your heart to go home… Think about your heart, Captain… Think about it… Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump… It's the sound of life, of warmth, of peace… You are so tired, you want to go home… It is your deepest wish and your heart will guide you to it, like a lighthouse shining in the dark… Think about your heart, Captain… It will lead you to the right direction to find it… You want your heart back… You need your heart to go home… Your heart is your home… I will help you uncover it… Think about your heart… You want to feel its beating inside your chest once again… Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump…"

"_I know what I __want; I know what I want…"_

All of a sudden, the compass' disk stopped its whirling dance and the needle abruptly pointed to the south-east: it was the direction where was the thing Jack wanted the most...

"Ah-ah!" exclaimed Jack with a stentorian voice.

"What is it?" asked Red Hand Pete.

Jack climbed down the smaller crate with a triumphant look on his face.

"Captain, we have our heading for the Dead Man's Chest!"

"What? That's impossible!" said Long, making one of his broken teeth fall out of his mouth in a splash of saliva and blood.

"Shut up, Long!" barked Red Hand Pete. "It seems Silver had succeeded where you have failed! You and your fancy ideas! Come with me, Silver, we have to consult the charts in my cabin to find out in which land the Dead Man's Chest is buried, before the disk starts turning again."

"Do not worry about that, Captain! The needle won't move until we'll find the heart. It is part of its magic to point steadily towards a great wish until it is fulfilled!"

"Let's go!" roared the Conqueror's commander. "Long, get your worthless bum out of the floor and come with us, you'll prepare my dinner! Silver, you'll join me."

"With pleasure, Captain!" said Jack who smiled widely, even though he was thinking what exactly Red Hand Pete could do with his dinner.

At the same moment, Will moaned as panic seized him: he had heard Jack's exclamation and he had jumped at the wrong conclusion, that he had unconsciously betrayed the location of the Dead Man's Chest. The words of comfort whispered in his ears had been nothing but a trap. The monsters had found a way to make him talk! Red Hand Pete would murder his family to steal the chest! The pirates would kill Elizabeth and Little William, burn their house to the ground, and he couldn't do anything to prevent it!

"No… NO!" desperately cried Will in the darkness of the orlop deck; he tried to struggle against his bounds but the chain just dug deeper in his arms' flesh and the horrid contact of the soil on his lower body worsened, making it feel he was pierced by red-hot irons. Vanquished by the agony and the grief, the young Turner's body went slack and his eyes closed again, completely spent.

Red Hand Pete smiled at his captive's obvious distress: another proof that Silver's instrument was pointing towards the right direction! But before he could congratulate his new associate on a job well done, the pale-faced man climbed on the box again, grabbed Turner by the scruff of his neck and said to the youngster's face, loud enough for anyone to hear him:

"You didn't have a chance against my magical compass, _**whelp**_. Knowledge is power, _**savvy**_?"

Unknowingly to Red Hand Pete and Long, Jack lightly stroke Will's nape under the dirty locks of hair, just before jumping down the box to follow his new "employer" and the unlucky Chinese. The orlop deck went dark and silent for an indefinite moment of time, troubled only by the sounds of rats' paws scratching behind the wooden walls and the creaking of the ship; but then, a feeble voice muttered in the gloom:

"W-Whelp…….. Sav-vy?"

TBC! ;-)


	15. Important author's note

**Important author's note:**

My dear readers,

First of all, I want to thank you for your enthusiasm about this story, and for taking the time to send reviews and comments about it. It sure has boosted my confidence in my English writing skills, and it has encouraged me in developing the plot, creating new characters and to do some research for historic and language details. It means a great deal for me to see English-speaking persons are enjoying _"A cry in the darkness"_ so far!

I am forced to stop posting new chapters for a while because… I am moving again! D-Day is June 29, 2008 and this time, I am leaving Canada to go back to my homeland, France. As you can guess, it means a lot of work in packing boxes and suitcases, organizing yard sales, and filling up forms. After 10 years spent in Montreal, I have a lot of belongings to take care of!

This story is "on hold" for the time being… **but it won't be abandoned**. In fact, I plan to post new chapters around mid-August, after the hurricane coming from the moving and the settling down in France will be over.

I seize the opportunity to wish you a great vacation time under the sun, and worry not, Red Hand Pete and Shiao Long will pay their dues! ;-)

**HAPPY SUMMER!**

Rose de Sharon


	16. Something wicked this way comes

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- Hi, I'm back! It has been a busy couple of months: filling up forms, moving the furniture, flying back to France, finding a new job there, renewing contacts with friends, looking for love, trying to survive the heat… And I haven't found an apartment yet! Whew! I hope you've had a quieter summer.

- Will giving his necklace to Jack as a friendship present is mentioned in one of my stories, _"In vino veritas"_.

- The chapter's title is from William Shakespeare's play _"Macbeth"_, act IV, scene 1. It has been used, among other things, as a tagline for the _"Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban"_ 2004 movie and for a song produced for the soundtrack.

- Don't try the olive oil trick at home! If something is stuck inside your ear, call your doctor immediately ;-)

* * *

**Chapter ****14: Something wicked this way comes**

Red Hand Pete rushed to his cabin, climbing the stairs two steps at a time. John Silver and Shiao Long followed suit, the first one looking slightly amused, the other one darting venomous glances at the white-faced man while trying to stop the blood pouring from his twice-broken nose and the gaps of his missing teeth. The pain was awful, but Long was so mad: of all the humiliations he had received from Red Hand Pete over the years, this was the worst! Being replaced in his inquisitor's functions by this walking cadaver!

For a moment, Long had thought it completely absurd to believe that pale-faced Silver knew anything about interrogating prisoners, and that the Captain had been suffering from the effects of over-indulging himself with rum one time too many. How could his new recruit pretend to obtain a confession from the young Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, who had resisted Long's torture devices for almost six days? But unbelievably, Silver had succeeded into making Turner indicate the direction of the Dead Man's Chest in less than five minutes, simply by using a weird-working compass and whispering reassurances in the prisoner's ears. Oh, how the taste of defeat was bitter in Long's mouth, making his own blood taste like poison!

The Chinaman's secret plan had been to learn both the chest's location and its hiding-place while alone in the orlop deck, torturing Will. Then, Long would have given Red Hand Pete the right location but a wrong spot to search. The blond-haired pirate would have wasted his time digging in vain and in the meantime, his servant would have found the chest at its real hiding-place and stab Turner's heart. He'd have finally become immortal, gaining powers worthy of the Black Dragon he had dreamed to be since his early childhood! And nothing could have stopped the Chinese from killing all the _Conqueror_'s sailors, gaining the command of the vessel, and use his questioning methods on Red Hand Pete as retribution for all the years he had treated him with contempt: that idiot would have learned the hard way that he should have given Shiao Long proper respect!

But Long's conspiracy had been shot to pieces, first by Turner's resistance, and now by Silver with his magical item. How did that ghostly-looking man ever managed to get his hands on this magnetic aberration, anyway? If they ever find the chest following the compass' indications, Red Hand Pete would become immortal in Long's stead. Silver would be generously rewarded, and the Chinaman'd be reduced to clean the Captain's underwear and cook meals for the rest of his natural life! At the thought of unimaginable powers slipping away from his fingers, after he had been so close to reach them, Long believed that he had fallen victim of a prank played on him by Cai Shen, the Chinese god of prosperity!

But Long wouldn't be discouraged by his rival's apparent success. The Dead Man's Chest wasn't in Red Hand Pete's possession yet. And Silver could be victim of an accident, this kind of things happened frequently on board. Or Pete's stupid slaves could get frightened by Silver's appearance and be easily convinced that he would bring them bad luck, so as a precaution it would be better to thrown him to the sea in the dead of the night. Yes, on a vessel, there were many possibilities to get rid of unwanted pests… His Master's new friend, with his pale face, the dark rings under his eyes and his skinny frame, wouldn't be able to oppose much resistance in a fight. He even seemed to have trouble keeping his equilibrium on a ship, judging from the way he was grabbing at the _Conqueror_'s dirty wooden walls for support!

Finally, they reached their destination and Red Hand Pete kicked the Great Cabin's door open, shouting at the top of his lungs:

"LONG! Prepare a meal! Silver, come with me! We must examine the navigational maps!"

"With pleasure, Captain!" answered Silver, and Long thought he had never hated anyone more in his life.

But the Chinese knew better than to protest out loud: he hadn't survived all these years escaping from his family's wrath, and serving one of the most dangerous pirates who had ever sailed on the oceans, by opening his mouth at an inappropriate time. Swallowing blood, bile and anger, he disappeared in a corner of the Great Cabin where a small stove had been installed years ago: the Captain had a suspicious mind and he wanted to keep an eye on his spy/torturer/servant's cooking at all times.

Red Hand Pete had deployed a map on the cabin's round table and also threw on it dividers, a ruler and a protractor. Jack's compass was deposited on the worn paper, covered with marks and inscriptions, and Red Hand Pete feverishly started to make out their future destination. Jack casually half-seated on the table, partially crumpling the map under his bottom, but he knew that his prey would be too concentrated on figuring out the false location of the Dead Man's Chest to admonish him.

Gosh, it had been so simple to fool Red Hand Pete! Just like shooting a fish in a barrel! Irritated by Will's courage, the borderline mutiny of his crew and his natural-born avidity, the _Conqueror_'s commander had become angry, impatient and drunk, making him eagerly accept Jack's wild offer of help at the Faithful Bride tavern. And in the ship's orlop deck, it had been easy to "convince" the enemy of Sparrow's trustworthiness by making the fantastic compass point towardsthe direction_**Jack had wanted**_, while pretending to mislead the young Turner with soft words. A lie within a lie… Like a kid blowing a soap bubble inside another one.

But it sure had cost Captain Sparrow a lot of self-control to not jump at Red Hand Pete's throat after seeing what his Chinese lackey had done to Will!

After a few minutes of silence, the _Conqueror_'s commander suddenly raised his head, looking astonished:

"_Isla de Muerta_? But… Your compass has pointed right in the direction of _Isla de Muerta_!"

"Does it? Well, it's a logical explanation, Captain!"

"What do you mean?"

"We have to admit that your prisoner is a walking paradox: he doesn't have a heart beating inside his torso, so any man in his place would be dead, but Turner is still alive! He has powers worthy of heathen deities, while remaining a human being; he's trapped between two worlds and yet remains perfectly at ease in both of them; and he's immortal, even if a way to kill him does exist. His state allows him to go back and forth from the Land of the Living to the Other Side, which is an exploit that hasn't been accomplished before..." said Jack while inwardly adding: _"Apart from me, the unsinkable Captain Sparrow, who has done a little stay at Davy Jones' Locker and has managed to escape from it with both his ship and his psyche relatively intact!"_

Jack cleared his throat, and went on:

"But I digress, so let's concentrate of his first characteristic – meaning, Turner's heart: if we keep in mind the information gathered about it, this thump-thump is locked up in a chest in order to avoid an unpleasant meeting with a sharp blade. Logic calls for an absolute necessity to secure the said coffer, so a quiet and remote location is the answer. I do happen to know _Isla de Muerta_: it is a rocky, volcanic island covered with thick vegetation, and avoided by merchant or military ships because its approach is made difficult by the submerged reefs. Even the Caribbean natives don't dare to come to _Isla de Muerta_: the risk of running aground is high, even with light-weighted pirogues. But they also don't go there because, according to them, the island is full of evil spirits commanded by the god of death – actually, a plague killed all its inhabitants, years ago. Now, let's addition three facts: an item that could cause a powers-gifted man's demise _plus_ a badly-reputed island where no one goes _plus_ the direction indicated by my magic-sensitive compass _equals_ the right place where Turner's heart is buried."

Red Hand Pete looked stupidly at his guest, his inebriated mind having a hard time to understand his guest's words; his attitude made Jack think of an overfed goldfish staring at him from inside his aquarium.

"Oh, is it getting confusing for you, Captain?" asked Jack. "Then I shall summarize:_ Turner the "dead" man has buried his heart in the "Island of death"!_ That's very appropriate, when you think about it!_"_

The blue-green eyes blinked a few times, and then Red Hand Pete busted out in laughter:

"By George, but you are right! It's the only logical explanation! Turner would have secured his heart in a deserted place and I also know _Isla de Muerta_ by reputation: it's dangerous, without any interest whatsoever and feared by the authorities, including the East India Trading Company flunkeys. The kind of God-forgotten spit of land holding a treasure that you can find only in fiction books written by novelists!"

"I wonder what those untalented pen pushers would say, if they'd ever learn this kind of island do exist in reality?" wondered Jack out loud.

"Never mind! We will leave for _Isla de Muerta_ as soon as we'll finish eating! Long, is the meal ready?"

"Yes Master," answered Long at once, but the fake John Silver didn't miss the hint of jealousy coloring the servant's tone.

Long presented a dark lacquered platter, holding two fine china bowls with white-and-blue patterns and their matching spoons. The ceramics were filled with steaming noodle soup, flavored by bits of chicken meat, onions and black mushrooms. Red Hand Pete ignored the spoons and grabbed one of the recipients before drinking its contents with the table manners of a pig, so he completely missed the almost imperceptible movement of Jack's fingers dropping something in his own bowl. After he had finished the beverage, Red Hand Pete looked up and saw his guest making a disgusted face.

"What's wrong, Silver? You're fussy about your food?" growled the _Conqueror_'s Captain.

Jack frowned and pointed at something inside his bowl:

"That cockroach… Is it part of the recipe, or is it an accident?"

The pirate's face turned crimson and he puffed like an enraged whale after seeing what his guest was referring to: an insect was indeed desperately swimming for its life in the warm liquid!

Red Hand Pete's paranoid mind immediately jumped at the wrong conclusion: if Silver had a disgusting cockroach in his bowl, it could only meant he had had one as well! And he must have swallowed it when he had gulped down his soup! His stomach revolted at the thought of digesting an imaginary insect, and the Captain's ire erupted again:

"**Long! You little bastard! Is this how you ****cook my food?"**

"What is wrong, Master?" asked the servant with a startled voice, completely surprised by this turn of events. His pseudo-better had always loved his cooking!

"I'll show you what's wrong, you dirty…" The rest of the sentence got lost in the Chinese's yelps for mercy, the sound of saucepans falling all over the place and Red Hand Pete's howls of rage.

Jack kept an impassive face at the sight of Will's tormentor getting beaten up twice in a row, but inwardly he was laughing his head off: the good ol' trick of the dropped cockroach in the stew…. It never failed! The surefire way to provoke a riot onboard! And it had been no trouble at all to find this kind of unwanted ingredient aboard the badly-kept _Conqueror_: Jack had picked up the insect on his way to the Great Cabin, simply by putting his hands on the ship's infested walls while pretending to regain his compromised balance – as if he, the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow, had ever lost his sea legs in his life!

The first part of Jack's plan had worked to perfection: with the compass' demonstration and the cockroach trick, Shiao Long was disgraced and neutralized. From the beating he was currently receiving from his mad-dog Captain, it was even doubtful the Chinese would ever walk again. One bastard down, one more to go! Then, Jack would launch the signal for Bootstrap Bill and Ammand to attack the _Conqueror_. In the meantime, William would be spared of more torture sessions, giving the kid the opportunity to rest and regain a bit of strength, which would be appreciated when Jack would free him.

Long really thought he was living his last minutes: the Captain was so enraged that he couldn't even plead for his life. A hail of blows fell on him, worse than the ones he had received at the orlop deck after Tony had denounced his actions, and Long couldn't even raise his arms to protect himself. One violent hit sent him flying back to his cooking corner with fireworks flashing before his eyes. He tried to grab one of the kitchen shelves to stop his fall, but the wooden plank gave under his weight and the Chinese went down on the floor in an avalanche of terracotta pots. Red Hand Pete kicked his servant one last time in the head and, under the violence of the blow, the small man fell at Jack's feet. Long passed out, his body surrounded by scattered pieces of pottery, herbs, spices and dried berries. The last things he saw before surrendering to the darkness were Jack's well-worn sea boots.

Red Hand Pete spat on the prone form of his servant, and snarled:

"Not even capable to cook me a good meal! I should gut him on the spot and have his body thrown overboard!"

"Is it wise, Captain?" asked Jack. "We are still in Tortuga's harbor, the sanest part of this island, and people may inquire why you'd dispose of your would-be torturer in such a casual way. It might arouse suspicion… and one may wonder about your ship's real identity. Maybe it would be better to contain Mister Long in some place, so he won't be able to goof anymore? And I will clean up the awful mess he has made in your cabin by his clumsiness!"

"You're right! I will kill him after we'll get our hands on the Dead Man's Chest. Now, I don't want to waste another minute on that slug. Let's have another round of rum, and then I'll give my orders for immediate departure. And Long will make the trip to _Isla de Muerta_ locked up in the brig, in the orlop deck: he'll keep company to Turner!"

"Captain, you speak words of wisdom!" exclaimed Jack with the world's most insincere smile on his face, while beneath his shirt, a necklace was weighting slightly against his skin.

A necklace composed by three silver charms tied together by a leather lace… It had been given to him by his little brother, five years ago, after Jack had drunk himself into unconsciousness aboard his dinghy, alone and miserable. He had never had the occasion to thank Will for this proof of affection…

"John Silver's" dark eyes glittered briefly under the Great Cabin's candle lights.

_Red Hand Pete, you will soon __be acquainted with the wrath of the indomitable Captain Sparrow!_

* * *

With a lot of imprecations, a few strikes of the whip and some threats promising Hell to pay for slowpokes, Red Hand Pete had managed to motivate his men so the _Conqueror_ would be ready to leave with the rise of the tide. They had grumbled, complained, cast dirty looks at their Captain and cursed the day of his birth, but they had complied and finally, the pirate vessel had been able to leave Tortuga's harbor at dawn to stand out to sea, its holds full of fresh water, food and a renewed stock of supplies. The last repairs had been hastily done but as long as the ship was seaworthy, Red Hand Pete didn't mind. He was full of renewed hopes in his search for the Dead Man's Chest, and soon a few leaks in the hull would pale in comparison of his immortal status.

Some of his sailors hadn't minded leaving Tortuga so quickly: they knew their commander was wanted in this island for his past evil deeds against other pirates and, even if the insulars were wasted, there was still a good chance the _Conqueror_ would be recognized under his fake name of _Benevolent_. It could provoke fights and the seamen weren't willing to die to defend Red Hand Pete. But the vast majority of the crewmembers hadn't appreciated to be kicked out of their hammocks so brutally, without a word of explanation about this hasty departure, and thus missing the occasion to go ashore and release their inner tensions in the company of hired ladies. One of them, Aldous Martingale, had been pretty loud in his protestations against their treatment, and was openly talking about overthrowing the Captain. Even the news about puny Long being beaten up again hadn't interested the belligerent seaman: who cared about the fate of that eel, anyway?

"If the Captain cannot command us without the whip or the blade, then he must be removed! We are not slaves!" had relentlessly argued Martingale for the past four hours.

Finally, hours after the _Conqueror_ had reached the high sea and no enemy was within sight, Red Hand Pete called all hands on deck, including the man on look-out duty. The sun was shining high in the sky, a fair wind was blowing in the sails, the ship was sailing at a good speed and he had an important announcement to make, the kind chroniclers will write down to perpetuate his exploits for all eternity!

"Gentlemen!" proclaimed the prideful Captain from the helm, looking down at the fine collection of ugly mugs that constituted his crew, "I have some good news! Our troubles are over!"

"We've 'eard that one before," growled Martingale out loud, and a few sniggers could be heard.

Red Hand Pete frowned at the interruption, but went on:

"We are on our way to a colossal fortune! I have recently gained important information about the location of a priceless treasure, which is buried in an island that we should reach in two days with favorable winds. Yes, my good fellows! Poverty is now a thing of the past!"

"Fer you, or fer us?"

This time, Red Hand Pete couldn't ignore the insolent man.

"Shut up, or else!"

"Or else what? Ye'll skewer me like ye did to that idiot Anderson?" barked Martingale.

There was a low murmur amongst the sailors. Anderson had been a drunkard and he was probably responsible for the damaged binnacle, but he had also been a good shipmate. Tony, Andy's discreet angel of mercy, was starting to feel very nervous. Martingale was pushing his luck, full of confidence in his comrades' support, but the old man knew by experience that this kind of solidarity was very short-lived for pirates, whose loyalties always went to the one holding the gold coins.

"I am the Captain of this ship! Sole master on board under God! Shut your trap before I feed you to the sharks!"

"Ooooh! Ye look so scary when ye're angry, Captain!" mocked Martingale. But before Red Hand Pete could tell his man to be quiet, the mariner got a dirty piece of paper out of his jacket's pocket… sporting a dark, circular mark in the middle.

"See this, Captain?"

Red Hand Pete paled slightly at this sight: the man was presenting him a Black Spot, the symbol meaning the condemnation of a traitorous pirate, or the discharge of a tyrannical Captain by his own sailors. Caribbean piracy tradition called for placing an Ace of Spades in the hand of the accused, but obviously this kind of card couldn't be found so Martingale had improvised a Black Spot with whatever means he could use.

"Yu're a goner Captain," snarled Martingale. "We're fed up with yu and we're takin' command of the ship!"

But if the seaman had hoped for a loud roar of approval for his mutinous initiative, he was sadly disappointed: only silence followed his declaration. It was one thing to talk about a commander's brutality, but it was another one to present him a Black Spot! A few sailors thought that Martingale had rushed things and they weren't ready to overthrow the Captain yet: maybe they should give him another chance? But most of the _Conqueror_'s crewmembers, elated at the thought of getting some fresh news about the promised booty, didn't appreciate this ill-timed interruption. Dismissing the Captain just before he'd lead them to riches? Nothing doing!

"Aw, put that Black Spot back in yer pocket, Martingale, and let the Cap'tain talk!" barked Lewis.

"What?" exclaimed the mutineer, "Ye takin' his side now? Yu were the first one to agree wif me this murning!"

"I yam always takin' the side of me monies!" shot Lewis back, darting a nervous glance at Red Hand Pete while a drop of sweat was rolling down his temple. "And if ye were smart, which ye're not, ye wuld do tha same and let the Captain tell us about that treasure!"

"Bah!" said Martingale arrogantly, getting pretty alarmed by the absence of backup from his shipmates, "The Captain wanna put ye to sleep with some more fake promises, that's all! There's no treasure! There haf never be a treasure! He cannut find any treasure! He havun't even find anuther binnacle in Tortuga to replace the one broken by Anderson! So how is he gonna sail the ship to the booty, aye? He's a liar an' a crazy and we gonna overthrow 'im, dat's what I say!"

"I don't have to listen to this," grumbled Red Hand Pete before seizing his pistol.

The detonation of the firearm made every man jump in fright, and it was followed by a loud thud while Lewis' face got splattered with gory bits of human brains. Martingale's body had fallen on the main deck's planks in a heap: blood was pouring freely from his exploded skull, perforated right through by a pistol's ball. His right fist was still holding the improvised Black Spot in a last and desperate hold, and his legs were shaking in convulsive movements of agony.

The summary execution made every men shiver, while Tony silently prayed for Martingale's soul – foolish, troublemaker, impetuous shipmate who got brutally murdered. They looked fearfully at Red Hand Pete, not daring to utter a sound; Lewis was too paralyzed with shock to use his shirt's sleeve as a cloth to wipe his face clean of his comrade's brains.

"No pity for traitors!" thundered the Captain, brandishing his pistol like the standard of ultimate leadership. "Now, is there anyone here who is sharing Martingale's opinion about my authority? No? Good! So listen to me carefully, you slimy bunch of good-for-nothing scallywags: there is a treasure, the one Turner was keeping the secret about it, and nobody in the world will prevent me to get it. Follow me and you'll be rewarded beyond your dreams; but try to contest my orders and I will kill every one last of you!"

"Ye mean Mister Long haf succeeded in makin' the ghost-ship Captain talk?" asked innocently McKenzie, one of the gunners. The man had a knack for changing the subject in a conversation, but this time it was most welcome!

The sailors breathed in relief when Red Hand Pete slowly lowered his pistol to answer: "No, Mister McKenzie! Mister Long has utterly failed in his task and he is currently cooling his heels in the brig, locked up in an iron cage. I don't tolerate failure or insolence, and Long will be executed with Turner as soon as the treasure is found and brought on the ship."

The crewmembers exchanged quick glances at the news of the Chinese's fall from grace. None of them had any sympathy towards that boot-licking little man who was rumored to spy on them at all times, but there was no doubts Long had brought the Captain a lot of valid information over the years by using his ancestral "methods of questioning" on unlucky prisoners. So what had happened with Turner?

"My trip to Tortuga has been very fruitful: I have met a competent man who had managed to make Turner confess the location of the treasure, and who can lead us to it without the use of a binnacle. Gentlemen, I present to you our new recruit… John Silver!" proudly announced Red Hand Pete with a large flourish of the arm.

A shadow moved behind the Captain and a thin, frail-looking man stepped from behind Red Hand Pete for the rest of the crew to see. He had the dressing of a clerk but his unruly mane of dark hair and his pallid face gave him quite a sinister look, as if he had just risen from the grave to retaliate against those who had given him a hard time in life. His shining jet-black eyes, however, made a sharp contrast with his slightly-wobbling gait and he had a nasty half-smile on his lips, as if he already knew what to expect from any of the _Conqueror_'s men before even meeting them.

Tony, who had already met Jack, couldn't suppress a shiver crawling down his spine: if possible, "Silver" had an even more dreadful look in broad daylight than in the darkness of the orlop deck. _"Something wicked this way comes…"_ thought the white-bearded man. He looked around: from the expression of their faces, he could see that the _Conqueror_'s shipmates didn't look too enthusiastic to have such a man onboard. The most brutish of them thought Silver was only a weakling, while the fearful ones were disconcerted by his appearance.

"He's tha answer to our problems? He doesn't look much!" said under his breath a one-eyed man, and the man next to him nodded in agreement. Another one, named Roberts, stared at Silver fearfully, as if he was facing the Prince of Darkness in person!

Jack wasn't bothered by the round eyes or stunned looks, but they mustn't be doubtful about his abilities to lead them to a phantom treasure. Doubts were the roots of suspicion, which lead to mutiny, something Jack couldn't afford… at least, for the moment. The _Conqueror_ had to go to _Isla de Muerta_, it was a capital part of his magnificent rescue plan! Sure, Red Hand Pete had an expeditious way to deal with mutineers, the body of the late Martingale was proof enough; but for all his confidence in his shooting abilities, the enemy Captain wouldn't be able to stop a crew's revolt all by himself. No, the _Conqueror_'s sailors had to believe Jack's fake identity as much as their Captain did… and another little demonstration would do the trick.

A tall man who was constantly twisting his index finger inside his right ear asked:

"That skinny fish is the new 'elmsman, Captain?"

"No, I mean he's my new advisor, Jefferson, you fool! He has more knowledge in his mind than you could wish to learn in twenty lives!" barked the _Conqueror_'s commander, getting furious from the ironic smiles spreading on the men's faces; evidently, they weren't impressed by Silver's intellectual background and didn't believe he could survive the hardships of a pirate's life. Red Hand Pete considered drawing his second pistol out of his belt and silence Jefferson forever, but Jack calmed him down with a short movement of his hand.

"Well, if yur new ad-visor is a smarty, maybee he culd help me out, Captain?" growled Jefferson.

"Is there something troubling you, my good man?" purred Jack while casually walking down the steps to reach the upper deck, and for a short moment Red Hand Pete thought that "Silver" would take out his magical compass to ask Jefferson what was the dearest wish of his heart.

"Aye! 'Tis me ear! Pain is killin' me!"

"Please let me have a look," said Jack, who stood on tiptoes to see what the matter inside the tall man's ear was. At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary: a few spiky hairs, a lot of yellowish-colored cerumen and the cadaver of a dead flea… the usual things one could see in the dirty ear of a pirate. But then, Jack saw what Jefferson was complaining about: a small ball of white wax was stuck inside the ear canal, and various attempts of removal had only succeeded in wearing away the skin, causing irritations.

"How did you manage to block your ear this way, Mister Jefferson?" asked Jack.

"Used melted candle wax ta make meeself some ear plugs."

"My! Are your comrades snoring that loud?"

Jefferson suddenly looked embarrassed; shifting his weight from one foot to another, he answered quietly:

"Naw… Awful noises at night… Coming frum way downstairs… Couldn't sleep."

John Silver kept a perfectly calm face at the hearing of the sailor's explanation, but his blood was boiling inside his veins in a fury. Awful noises at night, eh? And coming from the lowest parts of the ship? Wouldn't they be screams of pain, by chance? And three guesses _**who**_ had been screaming, thus depriving Jefferson of his beauty sleep!

Some men laughed out loud at the recollection of Will being tortured, but most of the crew kept a cowardly silence, as if they were aware of Long's handiwork but none of them had found five minutes of courage to help the martyred youngster chained in the orlop deck – maybe apart an old guy, who was remaining prudently in the background. No, their only concern had been for the quality of their slumber, so they used various means to block Will's cries in the darkness!

Jack smiled at Jefferson, showing all his gold and silver teeth as if he wanted to bite him, and then turned towards the helm to ask: "Captain, may I borrow some oil to your cook?"

"SMITH!" roared the blond-haired pirate commander. "Go get him some oil!"

Smith jumped on his feet and disappeared in the cooking galley without a word, too happy to put some distance between the ghostly-looking man and himself, while Jack's patient asked in alarm:

"Whaddya want oil fer, Mister? Are ya going ta fry my ear?"

Jack was tempted to retort that Jefferson's brains had been fried years ago, but he simply replied: "Oh, ye of little faith! How may cooking the inside of your ear will help you? No, no, it is just a better way to extract that ball of wax out of your ear, instead of sticking your finger in it and push it further into the canal. You see, I have always believed in ruse and intelligence, rather than the imbecilic use of excessive force, like Mister Long did… This explains why he has ended to failure with that uncooperative Turner. Your ear will be freed in a minute, Mister Jefferson, and without provoking any kind of pain. Would you like that?"

"Fer sure, I would!"

"Very well, then! Just leave it to me and it's a done deal."

Smith came back in a hurry, holding a greasy glass bottle full of olive oil and the men gathered round, curious to see what their Captain's new associate was going to do. Red Hand Pete didn't reprimand them, since he was also curious to see how Silver would manage to get Jefferson out of his ridiculous situation.

Jack asked to the sailor to kneel and to tilt his head on the left side. Then he opened the bottle and approached the neck to the presented right ear, and a few drops of olive oil fell inside the organ.

"All right, Mister Jefferson?"

"Yep! 'Tis fine! Just tickles…"

"Just keep still and it will be over soon," said Jack. From the corner of his eye, he could see that the audience was captivated, including the Captain. _"Good," _thought the ex-commander of the_ Black Pearl, "Let that moronic crew witness the operation, and then I won't have to worry about being stabbed in the back until we reach _Isla de Muerta_ and I can lead Red Hand Pete right into my trap. There is no use in wasting a learned man who can also be employed as a surgeon, isn't it?"_

Jack waited for a minute, until he was sure the viscous liquid had filled Jefferson's ear in full; when he looked inside again, he could see some oil was slowly disappearing behind the plug, through a very small passage left between the candle wax and the canal. Jack had a hard time to suppress a victorious smile: it was working! The oil was acting like a lubricant, thus making the plug loosen its grip on the narrow tunnel. He had seen Gibbs use this method once, when a beetle had crawled inside a sailor's ear: the oil had done marvel to drown the insect and facilitate its evacuation, without risks of perforing the ear drum!

Jack took out a round-ended wooden needle out of his cloak's pocket –one of his personal toothpicks – and he very gently placed it in the small passage, where the oil had insinuated itself, before adding a very light pressure on the ball of white wax. Saturated with the slippery liquid, the plug loosened itself from the canal with a muffled "pop"! Jack immediately told Jefferson to bend his head on the right side this time and, under the men's incredulous eyes, a few drops of olive oil fell on the upper deck… along with Jefferson's imprudent attempt to ignore Will's screams of pain. Jack picked up the handmade ear plug and presented it to the sailor with a modest smile on his lips and a triumphant shine in his eyes.

"Here you are, Mister Jefferson! Just wipe your ear with a clean handkerchief to get the last of the oil out, and your hearing will be as good as before… Even better, since in the process, it will also clean your ear from its various contents!"

"'Tis true! It 'as stopped 'urting! I can 'ear again on this side! Oh, thank yu, Mister Silver!"

"You are very welcome," said Jack, inwardly thinking that stupid Jefferson had been useful for the very first time of his life.

Astonished, the shipmates looked at "John Silver" with a renewed respect: that man looked like he weighed as much as a dead cat and he had a ghastly appearance, but he had managed to help Jefferson and, according to their Captain, he also had made Turner talk about the treasure's location without using torture. Maybe recruiting Silver hadn't been a bad idea, after all… As long as he wasn't too greedy about food and gold, the man couldn't be a hindrance to the ship…

Only Roberts, the superstitious one, kept on staring at the newcomer while clutching desperately at a talisman he was wearing around his neck. He shook from head to toes when Jack accidentally brushed against him, persuaded that "Silver" was nothing but Beelzebub's Dark Messenger who had come to bring a bad omen upon the _Conqueror_!

"Well done, Mister Silver, very well done!" said Red Hand Pete, clapping his hands while walking down the stairs as well. "Didn't I tell you Mister Silver was an asset to this ship, gents? With his help, I have been able to find out that our future fortune is waiting for us on _Isla de Muerta_ – and it will be the first of many more to come! Gold will rain on us like water, and you will all be richer than kings!"

"_I-I-Isla de Muerta_? But C-Captain… It's a c-c-c-cursed place! We c-c-cannot go there!" stammered Roberts.

The entire _Conqueror_'s crew burst out in laugher:

"Here goes Roberts again! Afraid of 'is own shadow!"

"What a weakling! What an idiot!"

"He shouldn't get any of Turner's treasure!"

"Bah! Let 'im remain behind, more of the booty fer us!"

"Aye! Too bad fer ya, Roberts. Ya would have bought yarself a lot of talismans with yer share of the treasure!"

"He's afraid of the big bad ghosts!" yelled Jefferson in a sing-song voice.

"I a-a-am not!" protested Roberts in a high-pitched tone, but to no avail: everyone aboard the ship knew that the sailor was renowned for his superstitious nature. Realizing he was being ridiculed in front of all his shipmates, Roberts tried to explain his objections:

"I-I just don't trust him," said the man while pointing a shaky finger at Jack. "Besides, we have already b-b-b-brought bad luck on our h-h-heads by cap-capturing Captain T-Turner…"

A pistol's shot fired in the air stopped his tirade.

"ENOUGH!" roared Red Hand Pete, and everyone immediately fell silent. "Mister Roberts, since you are a coward and an idiot, you'll stay on the _Conqueror_ while we'll dig up the treasure. To teach you a lesson, from now you'll get the smallest shares of the booties we'll collect in the future! And if you don't shut your mouth at once, you'll join Martingale wherever his damned soul is! Now, we sail for _Isla de Muerta_ and that's a direct order. Get back to your posts!"

The sailors scattered like a flock of birds to go back to work. Three of them, including Lewis whose face was still covered with brain particles, remained to gather Martingale's body and to clean up the bloody mess maculating the deck's planks. When the corpse was moved, the piece of paper bearing the improvised Black Spot fell from the dead man's hand and Jack bended over to retrieve it.

"Ever seen this before, Mister Silver?" asked Red Hand Pete.

"No, can't say that I did," lied Jack through his teeth.

"That's the Black Spot, the mark of condemnation against a pirate accused of being an informant, or to deposit a captain. That scoundrel Martingale had the nerve to try to dispossess me from my command – I should have skinned him alive! But I have wasted too much time waiting for Long to obtain a confession from the prisoner. You can keep that piece of paper if you like, Mister Silver. It's not likely to harm me now!" concluded Red Hand Pete with a hearty laugh and a slap on the slender man's back.

The _Conqueror_'s commander moved away to supervise the maneuver, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts.

Of course, Sparrow had seen this kind of symbol before: the first time, it had been a piece of paper with a burned hole in the middle, presented to him by Hector Barbossa. The second time, it had been Bootstrap Bill Turner who had given him a much more dangerous Black Spot, in the form of a burned swelling on the palm of his left hand – reminding Jack of his terrible deal with Davy Jones. That burn had been a marker, dooming Sparrow to be found by the Kraken no matter how long and how far he would flee on sea.

"_Bill's Black Spot had been a signal… for the Kraken to track me down…"_

Jack remembered his beloved three-cornered hat, thrown in the water by Barbossa's pet monkey: the headgear, marked like its owner, had found itself stuck between the Kraken's teeth and the most eccentric pirate of the Caribbean had barely the time to retrieve it before being swallowed by Jones' beastie.

Of course, that monster was dead and decomposed, just like its octopus-bearded master. But if the sight of Martingale's Black Spot had awakened memories, it had also begun to form a new idea in Jack's overactive mind.

_Using something to "mark" the _Conqueror_ for destruction… A signal for a supernatural being to track and destroy that ship_ _once and for all__ … Right after I'd have freed Will from his goddamned crate and we would be safely back aboard the _Seref_…_

Jack knew he was taking another big risk; he had absolutely no way to know if this idea for sinking the _Conqueror_ would work. In fact, calling on the supernatural was a completely mad scheme. But then again, it would probably work because he was Captain Jack Sparrow and he could do anything!

"_Ah, Jacky ol'boy, are there any limits to your intelligence?"_

TBC…


	17. Feign madness but keep your balance

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- A big "Thank you" to the White Witch, Ana, Candi and Fan. You are wonderful!

- Wang Tao's proverb is from "The thirty-six stratagems", borrowed from Wikipedia the free on-line encyclopedia.

- Cai Shen is the Chinese god of prosperity.

- Mazu is the Chinese sea goddess who protects fishermen and sailors.

* * *

**Chapter ****15: Feign madness but keep your balance**

"Haul the skysails!"

With a renewed enthusiasm, the _Conqueror_'s crewmembers had done marvels to make their ship sail in the direction mentioned by John Silver. Helped by good winds and maneuvered with sagacity and promptness, the brig was doing good time: in fact, its Captain was predicting they would reach _Isla de Muerta_ as soon as next morning, instead of the 48-hour voyage that was the usual length of time required for this kind of trip. The sailors were grinning at each other, their eyes shining at the thought of plunging their hands in coffers and barrels full of coins, of draping themselves in gold and silver-trended materials, of putting kings' crowns on their heads and slide jewel-incrusted swords in their scabbards. At least, they'd gain enough money to live like nabobs on an island all their own, and spend the rest of their days eating, drinking and having fun with women!

All this was making Red Hand Pete very happy, and he even had allowed the sailors to receive a ration of tafia each – he wasn't used to reward his men for their work, but his meeting with Silver had changed his mood completely so he could indulge his men a little!. He was almost amiable, a radical change from the cold-blooded murderer who had killed one of his men a few hours ago. But for Red Hand Pete, the death of Martingale was as insignificant as swatting a pestering fly against a wall. On the next morning, he would have the Dead Man's Chest in his possession and he'd become immortal!

The _Conqueror_'s Captain looked around and saw the man responsible for his good fortune leaning on the hull's rail, staring at an invisible point in the western horizon. After the successful unplugging of Jefferson's ear, Silver had been adopted by the crew; he could walk freely on the upper deck, provided he wouldn't stand in the way of maneuvers or cleaning chores. Only Roberts was still avoiding Silver as if he were plague-ridden. Oh well, who could bother to reason with that superstitious fool!

Red Hand Pete walked by and gave the ring-eyed man a good slap on the back, enjoying the small wince Silver gave at this demonstration of trust from the sole authority aboard the _Conqueror_. The Captain chuckled at this sight: Silver may be intelligent, but he was far too skinny to be a threat for anyone!

"Ah, Mister Silver! In a hurry to see _Isla de Muerta_ appearing at the horizon, are you?"

"Oh, yes I am, Captain! I can't wait to see you finding the Dead Man's Chest. Not to mention the riches we will gain in the same move: the first step to our colossal wealth!"

"Riches? What do you mean, riches?"

"Well, you've mentioned earlier to the crew that we will find a treasure at the same time we'll dig out the Dead Man's Chest, haven't you? So I thought you were talking about monies that Turner had hidden in that coffer…" answered Jack with an innocent look on his face, but Red Hand Pete gestured him to be discreet.

"Actually, Silver, I am absolutely not sure if Turner has buried anything made of gold or silver in the Dead Man's Chest! For all I know, it contains only his heart; but the crew couldn't be interested with it, that's why I invented this story of a treasure, to end their stupid ideas of a mutiny and to motivate them in reaching my goal."

"By the way," added the Captain in a low voice, "I have decided that you will go ashore with a dozen of my men and find the chest with the help of your magical compass; I shall stay aboard the _Conqueror_ to watch the ship, and wait for your return."

Jack Sparrow felt a drop of sweat running down his spine, leaving an icy track on his skin.

"_Uh-oh, think fast, Jacky!" _thought the scruffiest pirate of the Caribbean isles._ "The bastard wants you to find the Dead Man's Chest for him! Yeah, sure, remain on your miserable cockleshell while my interesting person finds itself in a risky situation, alone_ _with those sorry excuses of pirates you call a crew_._ Well, here's some bad news: you will come to _Isla de Muerta_ with me, because it is necessary for my secret and mind-blowing plan!"_

"But Captain, what will happen when your men find out that the Dead Man's Chest holds no riches? Aren't you worried about their reaction for this deception?" asked Jack.

"What do you care about their reaction? The only thing that matters to you is to get the chest aboard the _Conqueror_ and give its contents to me! I will stab Turner's heart at once and become immortal. And if anyone of my sailors gets some funny ideas, I will deal with him as I did with Martingale!"

Jack pretended to think long and hard about the enemy's words for a while, and then he said:

"Frankly, Captain, I'd advise you to come to _Isla de Muerta_ with me."

"What? W-why should I come?" asked Red Hand Pete, his cowardice nature startled at the thought of disembarking on an island of bad reputation to search for something that was valuable for him exclusively.

"Well, you've said so yourself that you don't know if the Dead Man's Chest has coins or not. In the hypothesis that I go ashore with your crewmembers and the chest does indeed contain riches, there shouldn't be any trouble: your men would be distracted while I'd stash your deepest wish and bring it back to you. But what if the chest is empty, save the heart? Your men wouldn't be interested with this rather… gory item and their anger might return dramatically quickly. They'd scream treachery before rowing back to the _Conqueror_ and ask you for an explanation. And how would I be able to stop them, Captain? I am not someone in authority. As far as your sailors know, I am your guest, that's all. And I could hardly kill a dozen men all by myself, even if you'd loan me a pistol, savvy?"

Red Hand Pete's face darkened: he hadn't planned to risk his own skin on _Isla de Muerta_, just remain safely in the back while his men and Silver would do the dirty work for him; he had done this kind of action countless times before. But he had to admit – albeit reluctantly – that his new advisor was right again. If the sailors rebelled about not finding any precious items inside the Dead Man's Chest, too-small and too-skinny Silver wouldn't be able to prevent them from climbing back into the _Conqueror_'s barks and murder their commander because he had misguided them!

"But what about my vengeance, Silver? I wanted Turner to witness his death as retaliation for his resistance! It won't happen if I have to stab his heart on the island!" whined Red Hand Pete.

"Ah, but you won't have to do it there!" exclaimed Jack. "Hear me out, Captain: you and I go on _Isla de Muerta_ and find the Dead Man's Chest. If it does have coins, your men won't take any notice of the heart; you'll take it and, back aboard the _Conqueror_, you will have Turner brought on the upper deck and send him to Hell in a swift movement of your blade. If the chest holds only the "thump-thump", just grab it and tell your disappointed crew that the prisoner has lied about a treasure, and you shall have him whipped by every crewmember. Your sailors' bad mood will improve considerably at the perspective of a torture session – I've noticed that some of your men enjoy this kind of things– and when they bring Turner on the upper deck, you'll stab his heart. Either way, you win!"

Red Hand Pete smiled like a shark at the thought, and it wasn't a pleasant sight: Silver had proven once again that he was a fine advisor! Sure, he would have preferred to avoid stepping foot on _Isla de Muerta_ – Rogers wasn't the only man aboard who was getting afraid of going there – but the stakes were too high: if the sailors mutinied after discovering that the Dead Man's Chest didn't have any gold in it, Turner's heart could be lost or thrown away in the ensuing fight, and all his efforts would have been in vain!

"Unless, of course, you'd prefer to choose the third possibility," added Jack, pushing his luck a bit. "You could order your men to unchain Turner and drag him on _Isla de Muerta_ with us..."

"Quite out of the question!" hissed Red Hand Pete, his face making a very convincing display of leadership. "He mustn't get out of the crate: it contains the only thing that can isolate him from the ocean's surface! No, no, let's do as you suggest: we will go on _Isla de Muerta_ together, find the Dead Man's Chest and go back to the _Conqueror_ swiftly. After all, it's a deserted island, isn't it? There's nothing in there, apart from a few birds and wild animals, so there can't be any dangers that cannot be dealt with a gun?"

"Truth is!"

"Well, then! It is decided!" and Red Hand Pete walked away to supervize his crew's work, after making sure that none of the sailors mopping the upper deck had eavesdropped their conversation.

"John Silver" was left alone, his pale face showing nothing of his inner thoughts: _"Whew! Talk about running into a squall! By his cowardice, Red Hand Pete had almost run my masterminded plan aground! His rapaciousness is a poor substitute for courage, fer sure. But my proverbial intellect has done wonders, as usual, to right the imperiled ship of my legendary schemes, savvy? And our little conversation has given me two important pieces of information: A) Red Hand Pete's concern about his own safety can become a handicap to him and B) He's quite aware that Will's powers are linked to the sea, or should I say, to a personality of the sea… This leads to my new and clever idea to summon some extra help to destroy the _Conqueror_…" _and Jack's fist crumpled Martingale's Black Spot, hidden in the depths of his cloak's pocket.

His plan had been saved and soon, Jack would lead Red Hand Pete to the fake location of the Dead Man's Chest, right into the grotto where he had hidden his dishonestely-earned booty a few years ago... Riches worthy of the _"Ali Baba and the forty thieves" _story, before they had fallen in Barbossa's, and then Norrington's clutches, apart from...

Before Jack could wander further in the past, a bad case of dry mouth brought him back to reality. Gosh, did he ever need a drink of rum! His stomach was used to receive daily large quantities of rum and it had been too long since his latest overindulgence. The _Conqueror_'s Captain hadn't been very generous with his personal stock of alcohol back in the Great Cabin, and asking his men to share their drinks with him would have been just a waste of time. Besides, Jack had never been found of tafia, that cheap beverage made from sugarcane juice, water and yeast added with caramel. The incredible Captain Jack Sparrow had been baptized with rum – according to his abundantly-told life story – and he'd probably die in a barrel of the same beverage, so tafia wouldn't be enough to quench his thirst.

One good thing about his alcohol withdrawal, though: it was increasing his John-Silver trademark palor!

* * *

_At nightfall__…_

"The answer is no, Master Bootstrap!"

"But, Captain..."

"NO!"

"Captain Ammand, please!"

"No, Master Bootstrap!"

"But Captain, I don't see how allowing Mister Wang Tao to go bellow deck is going to hurt anyone of your crew! It's raining cats and dogs outside!"

"Wang Tao is a stowaway aboard my ship, and I don't tolerate stowaways! He escaped the rowing bench simply because of _Serçe_'s intervention and yours, but our agreement didn't include I should shelter him!"

"Captain Ammand, do you remember that Mister Wang Tao has accepted to help us in our fight against Red Hand Pete?"

"It wasn't a disinterested act from his part, Master Bootstrap! Wang Tao needs us to find his cousin and execute his family's vengeance. And he knew we wouldn't throw him overboard while being at the _Conqueror_'s earshot, the risks of making loud noises and being discovered were too high. Besides, I really didn't appreciate his spying on you at the Tortuga's tavern or his climbing aboard my ship, unnoticed."

"Captain Ammand, I can compensate for his comfort..."

"It is not a question of money, Master Bootstrap, it's a matter of principles! I have worked long and hard for my title of Pirate Lord of the Black Sea, and I won't have it damaged by people telling the story of a stowaway who had managed to remain aboard my ship, alive and unpunished. The next thing I know, my holds will be full of unwanted passengers who had thought they could travel aboard the _Seref_ for free and get away with it. Wang Tao remains on the upper deck under surveillance, and that is final!"

Bootstap Bill sighed: he knew he had hit a wall here with the Captain's inflexible decision. Ammand was as jealous of his reputation like any other pirate captain; besides, sea outlaws hated stowaways with a passion – too worried about them being governments' spies or informants – and they would order their execution in the most sadistic ways, like making them walk the plank. Even merchant Captains disliked finding unexpected passengers hidden in the deepest parts of the brig: they would usually use them as slaves before kicking them out after their ship had reached destination. In some cases, commanders could even order the whipping of stowaways, or having them hanged on the spot!

"Very well, Captain Ammand. My apologies for wasting your time," said the tall man with a salute to the galley's commander before exiting the _Seref_'s Great Cabin. Ammand looked at the elder Turner quietly shutting the door behind him, then he exchanged a quick glance with his First Mate and shook his head in consternation: resolute, rich, generous, concerned and polite... What in the world kind of a scoundrel Master Bootstrap was?

"Frankly, Yusuf, if the pirates' days are numbered, it won't be because of the East India Trading Company's rewards on our heads, or from traps set by governments' admirals. It would be because of men like Master Bootstrap!"

"What do you mean, _Kaptan_?"

"Well, how can we strike dread and terror in people's minds if word is spread that there are caring men amongst us? We pirates have a reputation to think of, you know!"

Bill Turner went on the upper deck and looked at the rain falling relentlessly from the Heavens. All day the weather had been fine, with a lot of sunshine and good winds that had propelled the _Conqueror_ towards Jack Sparrow's net… and the _Seref_, following their prey assiduously, but also keeping a good distance and taking great care to not be spotted by the enemy. But in the evening, dark clouds had accumulated in the sky: not a tempest or a thunderstorm, just a good ol' fashioned tropical rain pouring down on the ocean. Ammand had called this weather a godsend, since it would allow them to follow the _Conqueror_ more closely while hiding behind a curtain of rain, but the _Dutchman_'s First Mate couldn't help but feel concerned about Wang Tao: since his dramatic apparition on the _Seref_, the Chinaman had been condemned to permanently remain on the upper deck, where Ammand's men could keep an eye on the stowaway at all times.

Bill wrapped himself in a cloak made of oiled cloth – a loan from Yusuf – and went on the main deck, bending his head under the torrential waters beating unpitifully on the _Seref _and clutching a half-tin of soup in his hand. He walked towards Wang Tao, who was sitting cross-legged in his usual lotus position, his back against the mainmast. In spite of the pouring rain falling on his bald head and his silk grey clothes, the Chinese seemed perfectly at ease: his eyes were closed and his breathing was even, as if he were currently in the comforts of his own home instead of the drenched upper deck of a pirate ship, heading for _Isla de Muerta_. The two sailors who had been assigned to his surveillance were still there, but they were huddling under a makeshift tent to avoid being soaked by the elements.

"Mister Wang Tao?" called Bootstrap Bill softly while crouching to the man's level.

The spy/executionner opened his eyes slowly. His face showed neither emotion nor surprise when he saw the elder Turner close to him.

"I've brought you some soup," said the former pirate. "It's not much, but it is all I could save from my share. Drink it while it's still warm!"

Wang Tao took the cup reverently as if Bill had given him a sculpture made of jade instead of a metallic tin filled with fish soup, and bowed his head in respectful salute.

"This is most generous of you, Honorable Lord First Officer of the Soul Vessel. I thank you for your kindness and I am humbled by your concern about my well-being."

"Think nothing about it," answered Bill, his modest nature a bit embarrassed by the title given to him by the Chinese. "I've tried to convince Captain Ammand to let you in, but I haven't managed to do much good, Mister Wang Tao. I'm sorry…"

"Please, don't burden your mind with my person, Honorable Lord First Officer. I am quite comfortable on this deck, and the display of Nature's powers is helping me concentrate on my future tasks; besides, my neighbors are sensible enough to not make too much noise."

Bootstrap Bill glanced at the two sailors, who were morosely munching on their stew while observing their exchange: obviously, they'd rather be below deck with their comrades, drinking hot tea and preparing themselves for the upcoming fight, than being drenched while on guard duties.

"Do you happen to have any news about our common enemy?" asked Wang Tao.

The elder Turner chose his words carefully before answering. After all, Wang Tao was a self-confessed secret agent and talking too much could have dire consequences for Will. The Chinese might be an ally in their battle against Red Hand Pete, but cautiousness around him couldn't hurt.

"Aye: according to Captain Ammand, the _Conqueror_ is steadily heading for the island where we will entrap this ship. It seems that Captain Sparrow has succeeded in gaining Red Hand Pete's confidence, and to lure him to go where we wanted him to go."

"In China, we have a collection of proverbs named _"The thirty-six stratagems"_ which are used for politics, civil life and war times. One of them says: _"Feign madness but keep your balance"_, and it seems to me it has been written with Lord Captain Sparrow in mind."

Bootstrap Bill had a hard time containing his laughter: that sentence described Jack perfectly!

"Captain Ammand is certain that by tomorrow, we will be able to attack the _Conqueror_ and vanquish Red Hand Pete once and for all. And we have agreed that you alone will deal with your cousin Shiao Long as soon as we will board the enemy ship: whatever your family has decided for his fate, we won't interfere."

Wang Tao bowed again.

"I am indebted to you, Honorable Lord First Officer of the Soul Vessel, for pleading my cause to the Honorable Lord Captain Ammand and to allow me to pursue the mission entrusted to me by my clan."

"Like I've said, think nothing about it. I just wish I could find a way to get you out of the rain, but this isn't my ship and Captain Ammand is the sole authority aboard the _Seref_. I just want you to know that I consider you a ally. If you like proverbs, you've probably heard this one: _"The enemy of my enemy is my friend."_"

"I did, Honorable Lord First Officer, and I am quite grateful that a commander of the Soul Vessel would trust my humble person and accept my pitiful help in your quest for bringing down the would-be pirate with the bloodied hand, along with his miserable ship and his wormy crew."

Bootstrap Bill's voice hardened: "Just make sure your cousin pays for what he did."

"Honorable Lord First Officer of the Soul Vessel, I give you my word that Shiao Long will reimburse his past and present debts in full, and with interest."

Wang Tao's voice was calm and detached, his plain face revealing nothing, but his gaze locked itself in Bill Turner's. Obsidian orbs met sapphire eyes, and without a word, the two men definitively sealed an alliance in their fight against Red Hand Pete. The older man lightly squeezed the Chinese's shoulder, and then he got up on his feet and walked away, trying to find below deck a dry corner to get some rest. Since Will's abduction, his father hadn't been able to sleep a wink; but with the fight coming, he'll need his strength to retrieve his William and carry him to safety aboard the _Seref_, after gutting Red Hand Pete out. Bill would find it difficult to calm his mind long enough to allow sleep to finally overcome him, though: he was worried beyond words about his son!

Unknowingly to him, Captain Ammand the Corsair and his First Mate Yusuf had witnessed the whole exchange of casual conversation and silent promises. The Pirate Lord of the Black Sea had frowned and grumbled during the whole time, but after Bill's tall silhouette had disappeared in the bowels of the galley, he rolled his eyes heavenwards and then sighed:

"Yusuf?"

"Yes, _Kaptan_?"

"The sailors guarding Wang Tao look definitively soaked to the bone… and I don't want to loose two good fighters out of pneumonia! Tell them to go below deck, with the prisoner: we need them in top form for tomorrow's big battle. And also, take a look at how the six Barbossa idiots are faring!"

"_Tammam_, _Kaptan (Very well, Captain)_," answered the First Mate, trying very hard not to smile since he wasn't fooled for a minute by Ammand's gruff voice.

Yusuf rushed to inform his comrades about their Captain's new orders, and Ammand went back to his cabin, secretly hoping he wasn't going to become the laughing stock of the whole pirating world by being lenient toward an irritating stowaway and six stupid throwaways.

"_The things I have to put up with to get my revenge on Red Hand Pete!"_

* * *

_In the meantime…_

Shiao Long thought he had gone mad.

He had woken up in a cell, lost in the darkness, hurting all over and with a few more teeth loose. Completely disoriented, it had taken him a long time to realize where he was and what had happened. And then, his wounds had refreshed his memory: Silver, the compass, Turner, the heading for _Isla de Muerta_, the food, the cockroach, which had appeared out of nowhere just before Red Hand Pete had beaten him up. Shiao Long had paid a high price for the accidental fall of the insect in the bow: three teeth missing, six irreparably damaged, two ribs fractured or cracked, a bruised stomach, a black eye and a nose that was twice its normal size!

And now, he was locked up in the orlop deck, probably condemned to a painful and upcoming death after his failure in making Turner talk, and all this thanks to that meddlesome, ghastly John Silver who had literally subjugated the Captain with his magical compass and his fine words!

Shiao Long gritted the few teeth remaining inside his mouth: he had never hated anyone more than that tomb escapee, who will feel the full weight of his wrath! Ooh, yes, they would all pay dearly for making a mockery of a man of his worth! To think he hadn't had the time to defend himself, he the Black Dragon who had been trained as an assassin since his birth!

The Chinese's cheeks reddened at the evocation of his training: to be truthful, he had been the worst student of the assassination classes taught by the Old Master. It had taken years for Shiao Long to master the methods, and the venerable fool had sadly concluded that this student wouldn't amount to anything – a feeling shared by the rest of his clan. Their comtemptuous attitude had fueled Shiao Long's anger and resentment, and he had avenged his so-called honor by killing some of his relatives who had openly made fun of him, even if he had to kill a few bystanders in the process in an ingenious attempt to cover his tracks.

The feeble light provided by the unique lantern hanging from the ceiling was giving poor illumination, but from his cage the Chinese could see the contours of the large earth-filled crate and Turner, still half-buried inside it.

Shiao Long spat in anger a mixture of blood and saliva on the dirty floor. No, he corrected himself, Silver was not the man he hated the most. It was Turner, the Captain of the Soul Vessel, whose stubbornness had made him resist his ancestral interrogation ways for the record time of six days. No matter which tool or technique the Chinese had used, Turner still hadn't talked. He had screamed, cried, lost consciousness many times, but he had never begged the torturer to stop or surrendered to the pain. In the end, Turner's endless courage had made Red Hand Pete to meet the silver-talking man, who had came out of the blue but who sure knew how to persuade people to confess their deepest secrets.

The Chinese considered with a tranquil hatred the prisoner, whose long hair was hiding his face like a dark veil. Shiao Long hadn't believed Turner to be a threat and he had thought Red Hand Pete's orders to keep the captive buried in earth at all times an exaggeration; but he had to admit that Turner had steel within him, a quality that made him different from ordinary men. What was most infuriating – and amazing – was the fact that in spite of the starvation, water deprivation and the terrible wounds bleeding on his body, the young man's beauty and dignity had somehow survived. Even if Will was in a deep state of weakness, he still had something invisible and invincible that made him exceptional amongst humans; a gift that would be forever out of Shiao Long's exasperated reach.

How he hated Turner! How much his resistance to torture had cost him! How he wished he had cut off the prisoner's ears, or slowly gouged his eyes out while he was in his power, any drastic mean to destroy that infuriating beauty and courage once and for all! But Shiao Long had missed this opportunity, too obsessed in getting the vital information to find the Dead Man's Chest and too stressed by his Master, and now he was bitterly regretting it.

The Chinaman shook himself out of his reveries of revenge: he had to get out of this cage, a humiliating contraption that was good only for mindless animals and prisoners. Then, he would hide in the deepest parts of the _Conqueror_ to nurse his wounds: by his estimation, it must be nighttime and the ship-slaves should be asleep in their smelly hammocks, so his escape wouldn't be noticed before dawn. On the next morning, the Captain would start his search on _Isla de Muerta_, meaning that he'd completely forget about the disgraced tormentor, thus giving him some more time to find a better hiding-place. But after the chest would be brought on the ship's main deck, Long could spring out of nowhere, dagger in the clear and in a flash of steel… He'd become the fearsome Black Dragon at least.

Shiao Long's sharp nails dug deep inside the flesh of his right calf: blood soon poured out from the cuts, but he didn't care about this. His fingers ripened open his own flesh and, after a few minutes of painful exploration, they finally found the item that had been sewed inside his leg: a long needle made of iron, a useful item for lock picking. Red Hand Pete had insisted in keeping Long's interrogation tools and fighting weapons in a safe inside the Great Cabin, but his servant had managed to conceal this needle in case of emergencies. It was certainly the good time to extract it!

Long crawled to the cage's gate, slipped his arm through the bars and push the iron shank inside the warded lock's keyhole. The task wasn't easy since his fingers were trembling and the tool was slippery from his own blood, but Long didn't have the time to wait. As soon as he'll be out of the cage, he'll have the opportunity to rest and recover, but he had to get out of here first!

A painful sigh distracted the man: it was Turner, who was trying to move slowly his chained arms in a futile attempt to facilitate the blood circulation.

Will had witnessed earlier the sailors Gregorson and Lestrade dragging his unconscious tormentor down in the orlop deck to throw him in the cage and banging its door shut, snickering about being soon freed of Puny Long's presence aboard the ship. The sight of the Chinaman in lock-up had brought a little hope for the young Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, a feeling that he hadn't dared to believe in since his capture. But a few events had made him realize his desperate situation was changing: the abrupt end of torture sessions, Tony's altruism, Long being encaged… And, above all, the apparition of the pale-faced stranger, who had mentioned a compass, called him "Whelp" and punctuated his speech with a "Savvy".

Will had been too weak at the time to distinguish the man's features, and he was devastated that he hadn't been able to see him clearly. The words used by this man sounded very familiar, and for a moment the young Turner had been sure that the stranger was, in fact… But how could it be? Even if this man was the one Will wished for his help, by what kind of miracle that said person was aboard the _Conqueror_? Maybe this whole business with the stranger and the compass had been nothing but a farce, another trap set by Red Hand Pete to make him confess the location of the Dead Man's Chest! Will remembered hearing loud exclamations about getting a heading… Had he done it? Had he involuntarily betrayed Elizabeth and their son?

Will moaned, and then tried to move his arms again. Doubt and hope were tormenting him more than all of Shiao Long's items applied on his body at the same time, increasing his determination to escape and protect his family. With a superhuman effort, ignoring his maddening thirst, hunger and pain, he tugged at the chains digging deep in his wrists. The sight of the wounded prisoner who kept on resisting to his fate made Long wild in jealousy and anger.

"You still think you can escape from here, don't you?" hissed the disgraced tormentor through the gap of his missing teeth. "You think you are so powerful than you can climb out of the crate and flee back to your ship by using your sorcery?"

The Chinese kept on picking at the lock, but his mind was more focused on the object of his hate rather than on his task.

"Or maybe you think somebody will help you, Turner? Your men, maybe? One of the _Conqueror's_ sailors? Or even better, the sea goddess Calypso herself! Bah, she had probably turned her back on you, after you let yourself get so clumsily captured after we had used that weakling of a cabin boy as a bait. Red Hand Pete may have wounded the boy, but it was me who had got the idea in the first place! Of course the Captain will take all the credit for your capture, that slimy worm, but he'll pay dearly as soon as I get out of here!"

The iron needle twisted and turned madly as Long was fumbling to find the wards hidden inside the lock, but to no avail.

"The goddess Calypso… Ha! After she sees what I've done to you, she'll probably run away in fright! My only regret is that I haven't had the time to mutilate you, Turner! But rest assured that as soon as I stab your heart, I will order the ship-slaves to dismember your body. And your remains will be thrown to the sea, sent back to Calypso with my regards! She will bow to me, she will obey my orders, she will…"

But Long's tirade got cut off brusquely when the iron needle plunged deeply inside the closing device, and a nasty smile illuminated his bruised face. There! He has engaged the needle into the cylindrical post inside the lock! Now it was just a matter to use the right amount of strength on the needle, so it will push firmly on a level like a key, to open the gate door…

The Chinaman would have hated to admit it, but he and Red Hand Pete shared common tendencies, amongst them greediness and impatience. Dangerous character traits, especially while being held in a cell and trying to pick the door's lock.

**SNAP.**

"NOOOOOOOO!" yelled Shiao Long, the would-be Black Dragon. He had pushed the iron needle too hard: the shank, already weakened by rust and age, had broken in two under the added pressure! One half was stuck inside the warded lock, while the Chinese was holding the useless other half in his hand. The closing device was definitively blocked this time! Only a locksmith could free him now, and Long wasn't muscular enough to wring the bars .

No, oh no, oh no!! He had ruined his only chance to escape from his cage! The iron needle had been broken just at the lock's edge, and getting it out was impossible. Long's botched attempt had just succeeded in keeping him more securely inside his cell! Cursed, he must have been cursed by Cai Shen, there was no other explanation!

Coughs were heard from the other side of the orlop deck, and the Chinaman saw Turner looking at him under his dirty locks of hair. After a while, he realized that these coughs were in fact feeble laughter: the captive had witnessed the clumsy escape ending in catastrophe. Obviously, Will hadn't been impressed by his tormentor's threats and he was comforted by the fact that Long wouldn't be able to get out of his cage, even if the _Conqueror_'s commander would give him the key.

Long screamed in Chinese, banged his head against the cell's bars, cursed for all eternity his stupidity, the merchant who had sold him the needle, his country, the day of his birth, the day he had accepted to serve under Red Hand Pete's orders, his family, John Silver and Turner, all this in the same breath. It took him a few minutes to calm down, another moment to make him sit and reconsider his situation, and about half an hour to admit that blocking the lock had been his own fault. Exhausted by his efforts, Will stopped tugging at his chains and lost consciousness again; the links banged against each other with a metallic sound, making Shiao Long raise his head to consider the half-buried prisoner.

"_The protégé of Calypso__… The envoy of the sea goddess…"_

At first, Long had dismissed those descriptions about the Master of the Seas, thinking them as being only poetic words to embellish a story. But in the darkness of the orlop deck, trapped in a cage and alone with his thoughts, a superstitious fear started crawling inside the small man's mind…

"_What if __the legend was wrong about the deity? What if Turner was in fact the protégé of Mazu, the Chinese sea goddess?"_

That was impossible! But still… How could he explain the bad fortune befalling on him since he had started to torture Turner?

Shiao Long sat cross-legged on the muddy floor of his cell, opting for the lotus position. His beatings and his failure at opening the cell had troubled his mind and he was getting crazy ideas, which wouldn't be of great help for ending his imprisonment. He needed a clear head to make another plan, and he had to control his breathing to calm the pain from his wounds. It was simply a question of mind over matter, and he was confident that he would succeed in re-centering himself, allowing him later to escape and slay his enemies.

The Chinaman started to breathe deeply and evenly, slowly reaching a meditating state. But as he closed his eyes a memory of the last thing he had seen, before being knocked out by Red Hand Pete, kept on running through his mind…

… The image of John Silver's boots.

TBC… ;-)


	18. The Island of death

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- Very big thanks to Candi and Ana! :0D

* * *

**Chapter 18: ****The Island of death**

"Land ho! Island straight ahead, under the starboard bow!"

The lookout man's cry ripened the dawn's quietness, when men aboard the _Conqueror_ weren't even raised from their hammocks for the first shift of the day. But that warning call had awakened the pirates with more persuasion than all the strident whistle blows, noisy bell rings and rough kicks at their posteriors they had gotten from Jeffrey Taylor, the quartermaster. Their impatience sharpened by the prospects of gold and various riches, the men rushed on the upper deck and gathered on the starboard side of the brig where, indeed, the contours of a rocky island could be discerned through the early morning's mist.

The _Conqueror_'s shipmates cheered, overjoyed at the sight of _Isla de Muerta_, the place where their Captain had said a treasure was hiding. Enchanted by the dreams of wealth they've had all night long, the sailors couldn't wait until they were allowed to lower the longboats and row towards the beaches until their backbones snapped. Only two of them didn't share their comrades' enthusiasm: Roberts, who was still afraid of the ghosts supposedly hiding in the island's forests; and old Tony, who was constantly concerned about both young Captain Turner and Andy, the wounded cabin boy.

Red Hand Pete got out of the Great Cabin with the promptness of a puppet springing out of a jack-in-the-box, spyglass on the ready and with a demonic smile on his lips. "John Silver" followed suit, a bit shaky, his compass in hand.

The _Conqueror_'s Captain was literally jubilant when he watched at _Isla de Muerta_ through his spyglass' lens: finally, he had reached the location of the Dead Man's Chest! Turner had been clever to bury it in a remote island of bad reputation, without any interest whatsoever for merchant trading, barely marked on navigational charts and avoided even by the Caribbean natives. But not clever enough: he hadn't counted on Red Hand Pete's indomitable determination and exceptional intelligence, and with a little help from Silver's magnetic marvel!

Of course, there was still the bother of going on this god-forsaken island himself to get Turner's heart. But Silver had been right: the stakes were too high to delegate him for this task. Besides, with his sword, his gun and the extra protection Red Hand Pete had added under his cloak (four loaded pistols of various sizes, and a dagger), he was safe from all kind of trouble from wild animals or belligerent crewmembers.

The commander glanced at his new advisor, whose pallor had increased during the night, as well as the rings under his jet-black eyes. Silver still looked unsteady around the edges and his trembling hands were making the compass shake. No, definitively not; Silver wasn't the kind of man to be sent to _Isla de Muerta_ alone with some rock-hard sailors to find the Dead Man's Chest, since he was small, slender and obviously recovering from seasickness!

"Ah, Mister Silver!" said Red Hand Pete while slapping the cleric look-alike on the back – an annoying habit he was developing. "Having trouble in finding your sea legs, do you?"

"OUCH! Er… How did you guessed, Captain?" answered Jack, who had nearly dropped his compass to the sea from the violence of the blow.

"That trembling of yours is quite revealing of your condition!" and the rest of the _Conqueror_'s crew howled in laughter at their Captain's bad attempt at humor, imitating him by slapping each other's backs like madmen and feigning to fall from it. John Silver smiled at the weak joke, but Jack Sparrow was inwardly furious at this degrading insult.

"_Have you ever tried to infiltrate an enemy ship by __using pure genius but without a drop of rum for hours, and sleeping with one eye open all night while hoping your backup didn't get lost in the pouring rain, you degenerate invertebrate? I'll show you who hasn't found his sea legs, pretentious pirate!"_

But Jack Sparrow deftly swallowed his pride, his opportunist nature taking care of business as usual: if the enemy and his minions thought of "John Silver" as a useful but harmless man, more the better – the effect of surprise would be multiplied by the thousand when his mind-blowing plan would take effect. After all, he who laughs last laughs the best!

Red Hand Pete snickered along with his men, and then he barked the necessary orders for the _Conqueror_'s approach of the island.

"Everybody up the masts! We're coming alongside! Secure the royal and the topgallant sails! Reduce speed! The helm to starboard, thirty degrees! Make ready to drop the anchor!"

The sailors rushed to their respective posts. Red Hand Pete looked at _Isla de Muerta_ through his spyglass again, and then he laughed:

"The Devil is with us, Mister Silver! This place may be renowned for its reefs and it might scare the other captains to approach it, but look at this! There isn't a single rock ahead of us, just a sandy beach with a gentle slope. I have succeeded in leading the _Conqueror_ on the safest side of the island, and without having to go round to figure it out!"

"That's remarkable, Captain!" said Jack, feeling nauseous at hearing the enemy commander singing his own praises. "How did you manage to find the right spot on the very first try?"

"I have years of sailing experience! Besides, Turner wouldn't have compromised the safety of his own ship when he first came here to bury the Dead Man's Chest. Logic called to reach land without any danger for the _Flying Dutchman_; and out of my seaman's expertise…"

"_Sheer d__umb luck," _corrected Jack silently.

"… I am always able to find the perfect point to disembark, without any risks for us or the ship. It's like a gift granted by Lucifer! We will be able to step foot on land within the hour!"

Jack feigned admiration after hearing Red Hand Pete's tirade: "How can our fruitful plan go astray, with you leading us?"

"Believe me, Silver, there is no Captain around who can match my seamanship. I will give you a landing worthy of an admiral's! Now, just keep your eyes fixed on the needle and make sure it points steadily in the direction of the chest," added the enemy commander with a satisfied glance at Jack's compass, "and soon I will reward you for your help in my immortality quest."

Red Hand Pete pounded John Silver's back once again and laughed at the subsequent _"Ouch"_. Jack thought he wouldn't have minded pounding the Captain's face, but a more pressing matter hadn't escaped the bird-named pirate's attention: the ship was, just like Jack had hoped, approaching the northern coast of _Isla de Muerta_, and he knew by years of stashing treasures on this same island that…

… _This coast was full of submerged reefs__, hidden under the dark waters…_

… _And the _Conqueror_ was going too fast to avoid them._

Jack made sure nobody was watching him before smiling widely, making all his metallic teeth shine in the morning light. Red Hand Pete's pride and vanity were going to take quite a blow! But safety first: Jack discreetly grabbed a length of rope tied to a toggle pin, wrapped it around his wrist in a makeshift handle, held on it tight and bid his time. It wouldn't be long before his Machiavellian plan to immobilize the _Conqueror_ come to fruition…

"The helm to starboard, twenty degrees!" thundered Red Hand Pete. "Secure those sails! Heave to! Make ready to drop the…"

A deafening **BOOOOM** was suddenly heard beneath the ship, followed by an abrupt stop and cries of horror from the sailors. Unsecured equipment fell all over the main deck and almost every man lost his balance. Jack endured the terrible shockwave more easily since his arm was tied to his "security rope", but he deliberately fell on his posterior to reinforce the impression that he hadn't gained any footage since he had climbed aboard the hated brig.

"The ship's touched the bottom!"

"No, we're run aground!"

"The hull's gonna open! Help!"

"Damnation! Brace aback! BRACE ABACK!" yelled Red Hand Pete at the top of his lungs, but to no avail.

The _Conqueror_ got entangled in the thick reef made of rocks and sunken tree trunks stuck in the mud and sand, making an impassable underwater barrier on which the ship had run into with a formidable crash. Under the impact, some of the tree trunks rose from the water and hit at the hull like giant hammers, increasing the damages and the paralysis. The whole ship groaned from the incredible pressure on the keel, and sunk more deeply in the reef. On the deck, screams of pain and terror rang everywhere, and one sailor even fell in the ocean's waters, getting nearly impaled on one of the shredded tree trunks.

"We have run aground! We can't move anymore! Hell's bells!" thundered Red Hand Pete. "Couldn't you have worked more quickly, bunch of idiots? Now we're completely caught in a stranglehold of rocks and wood!"

"But Captain! You told us to come alongside!" protested Jefferson

"Let's abandon ship, Captain! We're gunna sink!" exclaimed Lewis.

"SILENCE, you bunch of cowards! Stay at your posts! I shot the first one who dares to abandon it! Mister Smithers! Go downstairs with the carpenters and check on the hull! The maintenance staff, at the pumps! We have to alleviate the ship and evacuate the water. Come on, move it!"

The sailors obeyed at once, too concerned by the safety of the _Conqueror_ to argue with their Captain. Red Hand Pete was blemish with rage, his pride torn to shreds after running his ship aground like a novice mariner, and he was gripping at his spyglass so tightly he could shatter the lens into tiny pieces. Tony noted from the corner of his eye that "John Silver" was painfully getting back on his feet... and that one of the cordages had been wrapped around his wrist.

"_Why in the world __was he tied up?"_ thought the old sea dog, but lashes from the quartermaster's whips interrupted him and he rushed downstairs to help in pumping the water out of the ship's hold, while another sailor dropped a line to fish out the man who had fell in the water.

* * *

Two hours of harassing work later, Taylor and Smithers gave their report to the Captain, followed by the rest of the crew. Judging from the tired and angry expressions of their faces, they weren't thinking too highly of their commander!

"We 'ave managed to close the gaps, Captain!" said Taylor. "And luckily, there wasn't too much water in the hold. But we're completely stuck in that reef; any move ta get us out of 'ere will make the 'ull open up like an orange!"

"Even if we unload the ship to the max, we won't be able to get outta 'ere!" added Smithers. "And the rising tide won't gonna be much of 'elp, either: it ain't gonna be enough to float the ship off, and it will bring only more extra pressure on the repairs and make tham burst!"

A loud growl of anger rang among the sailors' ranks: all the men's good mood at the thought of gaining an easy fortune had vanished under the catastrophic turn of events, and they were looking darkly at Red Hand Pete. The situation was grave, indeed! The _Conqueror_ had been driven ashore nearby a deserted island and the chances of being rescued were close to zero: even if a miraculous ship went passing by, it would probably demolish the _Conqueror_ from a safe distance in a hail of cannonballs before hanging the very few surviving outlaws. Talk about being stuck between the Devil and the deep blue sea!

"We're glued in 'ere! And it's all yer fault, Red 'and Pete!"

"Yeah! How are we gunna get out of this god-forsaken place to spend the monies you've promised us?"

"Looks like Martingale was right, fellows! Too bad we didn't listen!" yelled Brown.

"SHUT UP!" roared Red Hand Pete while drawing his gun out of his belt. "I'll pulverize the head of the first one who dares open his mouth again and he will keep company to Martingale in Hell! And that goes for you as well, Taylor and Smithers!"

A deadly silence fell on the Conqueror. Then, a soft cough could be heard from behind, and Red Hand Pete turned around to see John Silver standing in the helm's shadows, his compass discreetly held in the palm of his left hand while raising his other arm in a respectful way.

"Permission to speak, Captain?" asked Jack in a fake subdued tone.

"Those morons dare to hold me responsible for running the ship aground, Silver!" hissed Will's kidnapper. "As if it was my fault! Can you believe such insolence?"

"I daresay their reaction is a bit exaggerated, Captain. After all, we've only suffered from a little shock, and the hull isn't breached: so far, so good! We can still carry on with our search for the Dead Man's Chest on _Isla de Muerta_."

"Damn right! But it seems they are getting rebellious again, and like you've said we cannot kill them all by ourselves. I still need those idiots so I can't order Taylor to cage them with Shiao Long, but I have to find a way to calm the troublemakers… Maybe I should order them to go down the orlop deck and whip Turner until their arms would drop on the floor?"

"_Sure, right after my tea party with Davy Jones!!"_ thought Jack sarcastically.

"If I am allowed to advise you, it would be a waste of time, Captain! The most important thing right now is for you to gain immortality as soon as possible. Let's go ashore _Isla de Muerta_ right now... And we'll take the loudmouths with us! If they have energy to start arguments, they will have enough strength for rowing a longboat. A little extra exercise will do wonders to calm them down, and the idea of breaking their backs to gain some gold will efficiently shut their yap-traps!"

"Good idea! That way, I will be able to keep a close eye on them... Especially on Brown, he was one of Martingale's pals. He'd be capable to organize a mutiny while we'll be on the island! ALL RIGHT, LISTEN UP!" yelled Red Hand Pete back to his crew, startling the seamen. "WE'RE GOING TO THE ISLAND RIGHT NOW TO FIND TURNER'S TREASURE! I WANT A DOZEN MEN WITH ME, AMONGST THEM BROWN, BAKER, JEFFERSON, LEWIS, MAXWELL AND BURKE! READY TWO LONGBOATS, LOWER THEM AND PACK SOME SHOVELS! TAYLOR, YOU REMAIN ONBOARD AND YOU WATCH THE REPAIRS! I'LL BE BACK WITHIN AN HOUR AND I WANT TO SEE THE _CONQUEROR_ SEAWORTHY ON MY RETURN! JUMP TO IT!" and a pistol's shot fired in the air galvanized the crew.

The shipmates moaned again, but most of them had perfectly heard the word "treasure" and their greediness made them move quicker. The designated rowers looked torn between their urge to revolt against Red Hand Pete and the habit to obey his orders, but they were as blinded as their comrades by the promised fortune so they reluctantly rushed to ready one of the _Conqueror_'s longboat.

Only Tony remained discreetly rooted on the spot, staring at the walking cadaver standing next to the Captain: it seemed that Silver had managed to muzzle Red Hand Pete's killing tendencies by whispering a few words in his ears, and the old sailor couldn't help but feel grateful for that. But something about Silver was definitively nagging at Tony's mind. When the old sailor had first seen the grim-looking fellow in the orlop deck, he had dismissed him as just another sadistic torturer replacing Long… But the man's shining eyes betrayed his intelligence, so why on Earth would he accept to serve Red Hand Pete?

Red Hand Pete smiled like a mad hyena – with the same quality of breath – at Jack, and said: "You're a wise man, Mister Silver. You could have been a leader if you weren't so skinny!"

"_I am __the unforgettable Captain Jack Sparrow who has just managed to make your wash-shed ship about as maneuverable as a bird nailed on a door!"_ grumbled Jack inwardly, but he lowered his eyes with a humbleness that would have made Joshammee Gibbs laugh his head off if he had witnessed the scene, and said:

"Well, the best philosophy is to accept the gifts we have received at birth. You're a Captain, I'm an advisor, each to his own and the world will keep on turning, savvy?"

"Fabulous words of wisdom, Mister Silver!" agreed Red Hand Pete with a hearty slap on Jack's back.

"OUCH!"

* * *

Meanwhile, another Captain was also looking intensively at his goal through a spyglass, but Ammand the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea thought his eyes were playing a trick on him: the hunted ship had hit a reef nearby _Isla de Muerta_ and couldn't move anymore!

"I can't believe it!" exclaimed Ammand, making Yusuf the bright-eyed First Mate and Bootstrap Bill Turner stand to attention.

The _Seref_ had taken advantage of the previous night's rain and the morning mist to discreetly follow the _Conqueror_; but when the blazing sun ascended in the sky, keeping on shadowing Red Hand Pete had proven to be impossible. So Ammand had ordered his sailors to secure the galley's triangular sails, and to wrap its oars with rags to avoid making noise while rowing. With its streamlined hull, the wrapped sails and the quiet man-fueled mean of propulsion, the _Seref_ had been able to quickly hide behind one of the island's promontories, covered with vegetation high enough to mask the top of the galley's mainmast. Only the bow remained partly visible behind the promontory so Ammand could observe the _Conqueror_, his spyglass glued to his eye; and the elder Turner was getting mad out of his impatience to get some fresh news!

"What is going on, Captain Ammand?" asked the burly-shaped man, his voice betraying his anxiety.

"This is almost too good to be true! The _Conqueror_ has run aground on a reef. The enemy will never be able to get out of this trap! Looks like _Serçe_'s plan is working to the perfection!"

"That's great news, _Kaptan_! Does it mean we can attack right now?" asked Yusuf.

"We still have to wait for _Serçe_'s signal to board the brig… He said he'd lure Red Hand Pete to go on the island before alerting us when the time is up. Besides, I can see some activity on the deck… Looks like two longboats are being lowered down on the water… Yes, that's right, and there are about a dozen sailors aboard, _Serçe_ and Red Hand Pete are on the first boat! They are rowing straight to the closest beach of _Isla de Muerta_!"

"Is Will with them?" asked Bill Turner, an incredible hope lightening his face.

Ammand turned towards his guest and presented him the spyglass: "I don't think so, Master Bootstrap; but then again, I've seen your son only once in my life, after the maelstrom battle. Can you identify him aboard the longboat?"

Bill took the instrument with shaking hands and scrutinized the departing bark with avidity. But after a few seconds, disappointment washed over him: apart from twelve ugly buccaneers' mugs, the only persons he could recognize were Jack in his "John Silver" personae and the blond-haired Red Hand Pete, the man he had vowed to strangle with his bare hands.

Sighing sadly, the older man gave the spyglass back to the Turkish corsair: "You're right, Captain. Will isn't aboard those embarkations, meaning he's still held captive on the _Conqueror_."

The Pirate Lord looked at the ex-doomed sailor with his intense gold-and-brown gaze below his bushy eyebrows and Bootstrap Bill lowered his head, not wanting Ammand or Yusuf to see the grief veiling his eyes; but he was so angry, so tired, and so worried about his son! He was missing William terribly and since Jack had overheard Red Hand Pete's mentions of torture, it had cost him everything to no loose his cool, swim towards the _Conqueror_ and kill everyone on sight to free his child. Only Jack and his promises to come back with Will safe and sound, thanks to his brilliant plan, had prevented him to do so but it was getting harder by the minute.

"Yusuf!" called Ammand in that characteristic deep grainy voice of his, "All hands on deck! I want to talk to the men and explain what our goals will be! On the double, but also tell them that silence still prevails!"

"_Evet, Kaptan_ (Yes, Captain!)!" said the First Mate enthusiastically. But after Yusuf had turned heels to carry on with his orders, Ammand considered his guest:

"Master Bootstrap, I swear to you we will get your _oğul_ (son) back."

"I know I can rely on your help, Captain Ammand," answered Bill, his eyes still riveted to the deck's floor. "It is just… very hard for me to remain calm while the _Conqueror_ is within our reach. I want nothing more than destroy that brig until nothing is left of it but shards, but Jack is right: if we attack too rashly, Red Hand Pete or his minions would have the time to mutilate Will irremediably and I would never forgive myself. We have to follow Jack's plan, otherwise all will be lost… but when I think about the dangers over my son's head, all my courage vanishes!"

"I recognize this courage," said the corsair gently. "Believe me, I also find it difficult to not open fire at once on the ship where the man responsible for the death of my young cousin Sami is parading around like a peacock. But something tells me it won't be long before _Serçe_ will launch that signal of his – whatever it may be – and take actions that will make people understand that it doesn't pay to mess with the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_."

Bill Turner raised his head at those words of comfort and this time, desperation had made place for resolution. His features were hardening like marble and the strange light – the same one Ammand had seen when Master Bootstrap had ordered Pintel and Ragetti to resume their mopping – shone in his eyes in a blue so intense his gaze looked almost phosphorescent.

"_Master Bootstrap is ready to fight,"_ thought the Turkish corsair with a half-smile on his face, and then he turned around to see how Yusuf was faring. Within minutes, all of his men had quietly gathered on the main deck, including the six exiled by Barbossa. They were all looking expectantly at him since they didn't know why he had leaded them to an island where there was, apparently, nothing interesting to steal and no city to pillage since Ammand and Yusuf had kept silence about their goal until now, keeping indications and orders to the minimum. Pintel, Ragetti, Murtogg, Mullroy, Marty and Cotton were especially nervous: they didn't understand a word of Turkish and they hadn't been able to communicate with their new shipmates since their impromptu enlisting aboard the _Seref_.

"_Men!" _said Ammand in his native tongue._ "We have come all this way to settle an old account with the worst scoundrel who has ever sailed on the salty waters. This man is not only a cold-blooded criminal who would kill women and babies just for fun, but he's also a double-crosser who has no scruples to betray gentlemen of fortune to the local authorities for a few coins. He's a vulture, a vampire, a disgrace, the dregs of piracy: I name… Red Hand Pete!"_

A collective gasp of surprise rang amongst the Turkish crew, and their tough-as-nails Captain noted with satisfaction that some of his men were looking absolutely furious after hearing that name: those mariners were the rare survivors of the Istanbul raid and they hadn't forgotten the wounds they had sustained or the cries of their comrades who had been killed or, even worse, executed following that fiasco.

"_Yes, men," _said Ammand,_ "The stinking rat responsible for the death of our companions is aboard that brig vainly named the _Conqueror_ we have been following since Tortuga. That vermin of Red Hand Pete thought he could betray me without consequences on his miserable life: well, he thought wrong! Years haven't altered my thirst for revenge and he'll learn about the sharpness of our swords. But our goal is double, since it also happens that my guests, Kaptan Serçe and Master Bootstrap, want to rescue a man who is currently held hostage on that cockleshell. So here's the plan, men: we will board the enemy ship and fight to the death every sailor standing on our way, and when Master Bootstrap retrieves the kidnapped man, we will jump back aboard the _Seref_ and our vengeance will be completed by the mighty fire coming out of the muzzle of our ten cannons!"_

"_When will we attack, Kaptan?" _asked an old sailor named Tahir, who had lost one eye to a Janissary soldier during his participation to the Istanbul raid.

"_It won't be long, Tahir! Kaptan Serçe had succeeded in both gaining Red Hand Pete's trust and to make the _Conqueror_ run aground: right now, he and that greedy betrayer have stepped foot on _Isla de Muerta_. Pete is so focused in pursuing a chimera, helped by Serçe's silver-tongue, that he hasn't realized yet the deep trouble he is! We have to wait until our ally gives us the signal to attack; in the meantime, we will remain hidden behind this promontory, ready the guns and keep silent. The enemies must be unaware of our presence until we pounce on them; otherwise we will lose the element of surprise. As soon as the signal is launched, it will be the time for our revenge!"_

"_A wonderful plan, Kaptan!" _exclaimed Tahir._ "We will fall on them like a thunderbolt striking a mast!"_

"_And all the glory will be for us, men!" _proclaimed Ammand._ "Our ship will become famous for vanquishing the most hated pirate of world and his crew of smelly fishes! We will succeed where everybody else has failed! And Red Hand Pete will never betray pirates again!"_

A shiver of excitement and pleasure climbed up the Turkish corsairs' spines: most of them were eager to engage in a fight, it had been weeks since they've had to occasion to inflict some painful reminders on enemies! Others wanted to jump on the occasion to avenge at last the blows they had received in Istanbul, years ago. Then, one hand was raised and the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea sighed after he had recognized its owner: as on cue, it was Bilal, the most difficult man of his crew!

"_But what about coins, Kaptan?"_ asked Bilal. _"What would be the purpose of attacking a ship if there aren't any monies or items of worth for our reward?"_

"_You are so naïve sometimes!" _said Ammand with a hint of sarcasm coloring his voice. _"Do you honestly think Red Hand Pete hasn't gathered a fortune with his constant betrayals? I have it on good authority that a treasure is awaiting for us aboard the _Conqueror_, and we just have to take it at the point of our swords to make it ours. Unless you expect it to fall from the sky and land directly in your lap?"_

Muffled laughter followed those words, while Bilal looked furiously at his shipmates: the man was notorious for being as stubborn as a mule, quite lazy, and always the last one to board a ship! Ammand was obfuscating a little, since the only booty he was aware about was the bagful of diamonds Master Bootstrap had promised to give him for his help – but there was no need to talk about this for the moment, the men needed all their concentration for the upcoming fight!

"_I wouldn't risk your lives and the safety of our ship without any good reason, you skiver. Now men, prepare your weapons! The _Seref_ has to be ready to get under way when we spot Serçe's signal. And remember to keep quiet! Söz gümüşse sükût altindir _(Words are silver, silence is gold)_!"_

The corsairs scattered at their respective posts while Yusuf called out to the quartermaster to organize the distribution of firearms, swords and grenades. Only the ex-members of Barbossa's crew stayed on the deck, not understanding that flurry of activities since they hadn't figured out a word of Ammand's speech. Bill Turner saw their confusion and decided it would be better to keep them busy to prevent any goofs, especially from Pintel and Ragetti!

"With your permission, Captain Ammand, I'd like to explain the situation to the six men we have fished out of the water after meeting the _Black Pearl_; since we need all the men we can have for the attack, it would be a good idea to employ them too."

"Employ them as what, Master Bootstrap?"

"Well, Jack Sparrow said that the short one and the bird-man are good fighters, so they can be helpful during the boarding of the _Conqueror_. From my souvenirs, Pintel and Ragetti know how to fire a gun – in fact, the only time they don't argue with each other is when they are put in charge of cannons. The other twos could eventually help for tending the wounded?"

Ammand made a grimace at the thought of Murtogg and Mulroy acting as the surgeon's aides, but they certainly couldn't be trusted with charging a gun and they didn't seem courageous enough to attend a swordfight. This pair of butterfingers would do fewer damages to the ship while being in the lower deck, below the water line!

"Granted, Master Bootstrap, and I'll leave it to you to explain the situation to this… bunch of awkward pirates."

"Thank you, Captain Ammand," said Bill Turner, and he motioned to the six men to approach so he could talk to them.

"What's going on, Bootstrap?" asked Ragetti. "I haven't understood a thing about what is goin' on!"

"In your case, that's nothing new!" grumbled Pintel.

"Shut up and listen!" exclaimed Bootstrap Bill. "We are going to board the brig that is immobilized on the other side of that promontory. Right now, we wait and lie low until Jack gives us the signal for action. Marty and Cotton, you will both receive weapons and you will be of the boarding party. Pintel and Ragetti, I've told Captain Ammand that you were good gunners, so you'd better not disappoint him! You'll be in charge of firing cannonballs to the enemy and every shot will count, do you hear me? Murtogg and Mulroy, you're assigned to the lower deck to tend for the wounded, since you don't strike me as being too handy in a fight."

"Er… Yes! Murtogg and I are of fragile and delicate nature, Mister Turner!" said Mulroy.

"Thought so, that's why you'll be more useful downstairs than clutter the upper deck. Yusuf, the First Mate, understands English so he'll direct you to your posts and give you the weapons and material you need. And you'll all keep quiet until the attack is decided, including your parrot, Mister Cotton! Now, go! On the double!"

The blue-and-yellow bird perched on Cotton's shoulder answered _"Aye aye, Sir!"_ in his master's stead, as usual, while flapping his wings; unfortunately, the most notorious dim-witted duo of the pirating world couldn't follow a direct order and keep a silent tongue within their mouths, not even on the _Seref_.

"But, Turner, why do we board that ship?" asked Pintel. "What is so important about it that Jack Sparrow has left the galley, disguised as a cleric from beyond the grave?"

"It's Captain Jack Sparrow to you, and his appearance is none of your concern!" growled Bootstrap Bill. "Just obey orders and there is a good chance you won't end up marooned on _Isla de Muerta_ along with your acolyte!"

"Don't call me an acolyte, Mister Turner! I don't like being insulted!" protested Ragetti.

"You don't even know what it means, you idiot!" shot Pintel back.

"Will you two be quiet?" said an exasperated Marty. "You are so stupid, it's a wonder you haven't been hanged yet!"

"Listen, you pint-sized…" started Pintel, but he couldn't finish his sentence since the elder Turner had grabbed him by the front of his tattered shirt to lift him off the deck like a rag doll. Bill's chiseled features were a few inches from the ludicrous pirate's face and Pintel found himself staring at the intent blue gaze locked on him.

Bootstrap Bill growled three words: "Enough. Obey. Now." and then he released Pintel, who landed hard on the upper deck with his posterior hitting the planks in a resounding smack. But the argument-prone pirate lost all interest in continuing the conversation and scarpered to find Yusuf, Ragetti in tow. Marty and Cotton took the time to salute Bill before leaving, while Murtogg and Mulroy stared at the big man with their mouths wide open, until a call from Pintel made them follow the movement.

Bill Turner shook his head at the departing sailors: if Jack even wanted to keep them in his new crew, he would get into no end of trouble! But now wasn't the time to worry about this: the only thing that mattered was to free Will from his unknown shackles and to get him out of the _Conqueror_.

For the thousandth time since the abduction, Bill slipped his hand under his wine-colored shirt's opening; his fingers easily found the key and the long lock of dark hair tied to its bow, hanging from his neck by the silver chain. Clutching tightly at the mementoes, he prayed for the safe return of his son, the image of Will's beautiful face dancing painfully beneath his closed lids.

"_Oh __Lord… If I am to accomplish only one thing in my life, please let it be this one! Please allow me to snatch my William out of Red Hand Pete's clutches! My angel… I'll go mad without him! He must be freed! He has to be freed! He's so precious, so special! Elizabeth waits for him… his son must meet him! Will, my wonderful darling… Please hang on to life, my love, Papa is coming! He's coming and he will kill every one last of your tormentors! Oh, Jack, I beg you, hurry up with your plan! The wait is killing me!"_

All of a sudden, the nagging voice came back into his mind again: _**Focus, Bill Turner, now isn't the time to panic. Keep your self-control and everything will go fine. Will is tough, and he can survive his captivity for another hour. Trust him, trust Jack, trust Ammand, and your ability to remain calm under pressure. You have proven it often in the past, during your pirating days. Remember the time when you were watching out for the departure of vessels from Vera-Cruz? You've had to hide in the jungle for days, fighting mosquitoes and deadly snakes while the risks of being discovered by the Spanish soldiers increased every hour. And yet you've remained solid as a rock, calming your shipmates' impatience and it sure had paid off: Jack had leaded you to a fantastic booty of gold bullions, originally intended for the King of Spain! So stay collected, Bootstrap Bill Turner, and soon your priceless treasure will be back in your arms.**_

"Master Bootstrap?"

The big man snapped out of his reverie to find the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea looking at him.

"Er… Yes, Captain Ammand?"

"I think you also need to keep your mind occupied. Can I put you in charge to watch the beach where Red Hand Pete and _Serçe_ have disembarked?" asked the corsair while offering the spyglass to Bill.

"With gratitude, Captain!" answered the elder Turner at once, accepting the long-distance viewing instrument again.

Ammand chuckled, knowing Master Bootstrap would be the best of vigils: he had quite a good reason to keep a sharp lookout! And then, he said:

"It may sound crazy, but in a way I am glad that impossible and maddening Captain _Serçe_ has asked for my help in his fight against Red Hand Pete to retrieve your son. After all, there can be no rescue mission without…"

"I know… Without the great Captain Ammand," finished Bill Turner with a sad smile.

TBC…


	19. All that glitters isn't gold

**Disclaimer:** the recognizable characters belong to Mickey Mouse. English isn't my native language so I apologize in advance for any grammar/spelling/syntax mistakes!

**Author's notes:**

- More than 200 reviews! WOW! A big cyber-hug to all my wonderful readers!

- Jack refers to the _"The lion and the gnat"_ tale written by French poet Jean de la Fontaine (1621 – 1695)

- To Ana: here's the action you've asked for! AARRRR! ;-)

- To Candi: hope the wait hasn't been too long, my dear!

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Chapter 19: All that glitters isn't gold

_In the _Conqueror_'s orlop deck…_

Locked behind the iron bars of his cell, Shiao Long had tried to calm down his anger by meditating, but to no avail. His living accommodations were far from comfortable, especially with the overwhelming humidity and foul smells reigning in those parts of the ship. His mountain-sized pride couldn't ignore his ignominious situation, intolerable for a man of his stature, and his dreams of revenge were becoming more vivid by the minute. Besides, there was also something nagging his mind and he couldn't put his finger on the problem, a feeling that made him feel like a perfect idiot and he resented it.

He was a master spy, born and raised in one of the most ancients pirating tribes of China, educated in the most refined ways of infiltration and assassination, and also an unsurpassed executioner. How a detail could escape him? He was cleverer than his pseudo-Captain and the larva crew would ever dream to be!

But Shiao Long had to admit that recently, bad luck had struck down on him hard. First with Turner, the prisoner who'd rather suffer unspeakable torments than talk, and then Silver… The odd-looking man who had won Red Hand Pete's confidence and had succeeded in making Turner confess where the Dead Man's Chest was located.

Something was definitively wrong with Silver and Long just couldn't figure out what. The man had definitively a ghastly physique with his ringed eyes, pale skin and disheveled black hair making a sharp contrast with the ordinary cleric clothes he was wearing, but his appearance shouldn't be unnerving to a group of criminals. In fact, Silver looked very inch the shabby, sickly pen pusher, the kind who had never stepped foot on a ship before; it didn't make him a good candidate for a life at sea, even less surviving a pirating career: his frame was too slender, he didn't carry any weapons and he looked frail, wrapped in that cloak…

… _His clothes…_

Shiao Long raised his head, annoyed. Now, what was this _idée fixe_ about Silver's clothes? They were dull in color, commonly cut, and more or less clean. Nothing worthy about them! He remembered the pale-faced man standing over him, after Red Hand Pete had beaten him up in the Great Cabin…

… _Silver was wearing ordinary clothes…_

Well, yes, it seems the man had a very poor wardrobe. Long gritted his teeth at the thought of his own garments, neatly tucked inside the closet of his tiny cabin, next to the Captain's. There would be no question that Silver would "inherit" of his cabin after his execution. But what would happen to his stuff? Would Red Hand Pete give his precious silken clothes to his new advisor or, even worse, to his flea-infested crewmembers so they'd offer them to low-ranking whores as payment for their favors? What about his ebony box containing his torture devices, his jade dragon sculptures, his four pairs of gold-embroidered shoes?

… _Shoes…._

Shiao Long's eyes widened at the recollection of his beating by Red Hand Pete: before being knocked out, the last thing he'd saw had been the image of Silver's shoes…

… _No! __They were boots!_

All right, so it had been boots; clean-looking ones, but the Chinaman thought twice about it. He had almost landed on them in his fall and, in spite of the blood pouring from his broken nose, he had smelled something strange emanating from the footwear. A vegetal smell, which made him remember of… walnuts? But why would Silver perfume his boots with a product made out of nuts?

No, perfuming footwear was a completely ridiculous idea, worthy of the fops. Besides, Silver looked too poor to bother mimicking the silly extravagances of the nobles. Maybe the man had dyed his boots to change its color, and he had used…

… _Walnut strain._

Long suddenly let out a litany of curses in his native language. Walnut stain! Silver had used walnut stain on his boots, not to color them but to hide the telltales scratches engraved on the leather! Long had traveled in Europe years ago, and the souvenir of a French harness maker telling him how walnut stain worked admirably to make scratches disappear from horses' saddles jumped in his mind. Silver had employed the same method!

But why would the pallid man make such a fuss about his boots?

_Simply to __erase years of use out of them!_

Silver was wearing a pair of well-worn boots which were cut in the fashion of… _sea captains_. Exactly the same ones found at the feet of commanding officers on a ship. And this kind of footwear was completely inappropriate on a man dressed like a clerk, which brought to the conclusion that…

_Red Hand P__ete's new friend wasn't what he pretended to be!_

"A spy! Silver is a spy!" yelled Long, jumping on his feet in a flash. He picked up a dirty piece of wood from the floor and started banging at the bars of his cell, while screaming at the top of his lungs: "HELP! Somebody, help me! I have to get out of here! Silver is a spy! Let me out of here! HEY!! Somebody open the door! I have to talk to the Captain! Wake up, you fools!"

Desperation sized the Chinese and he banged his fists even more against the iron, ignoring the pain from the precedent beating. Whatever "John Silver" real identity was, the man wouldn't have stepped aboard the _Conqueror_ without a good reason – maybe he was a secret agent sent by the authorities, or an undercover crewmember of rival pirates. Red Hand Pete didn't lack of enemies from each side of the law, after all. Or maybe Silver wanted to double-cross everyone and keep the Dead Man's Chest for himself?

"HEY!! Get me out of here! Silver is a traitor! I have to tell the Captain! I want to get out! Come downstairs, you ship-slaves! I have to tell the Captain! Silver will betray us all!"

But after fifteen minutes of frantic banging, Long finally calmed down and coughed, his throat dry from the screaming. All that noise had been for nothing, the sailors wouldn't bother to go downstairs to check on a nearly-dead prisoner and a disgraced torturer! They probably were too busy with repairs after the _Conqueror_'s hull had hit something earlier – Long had felt the rough jolt from his cell: he had thought it had been a tidal wave! Or maybe they were too respectful of the Captain's orders to dare moving an inch from the upper deck.

Disgusted, the Chinese sat back on the muddy floor of his cell, his face buried in the palms of his hands. He was the only one who knew the truth about Silver, and he could warn no one about the danger! He silently cursed his inattentiveness which would make him pay a very high price; but really, how often did someone ever notice other people's footwear?

But the racket had awakened Will Turner from his semi-coma. At first, he hadn't been able to make head or tail of his former tormentor's yells; the man had been ranting and raving like a madman! But after blessed silence had followed, Will made an enormous effort to understand the reasons of Long's crisis of fury. In his wounded state, it was very difficult for him to think, to concentrate, but he instinctively knew something important was happening to upset Long like this.

The Chinaman had yelled something about silver… and a traitor, who would betray them… thus the wild pleadings for assistance in opening his cell's door…

That last part would have made Will laugh if he had enough strength left within him to do so: he knew from painful experience that screams for help are left unanswered aboard the _Conqueror_. Long was as trapped in his jail as he was in the soil-filled crate, and no sailor would defy Red Hand Pete's authority by freeing prisoners. No one… Except for Tony, who had dared to come downstairs to give him a little water? But the old man had fled in terror right after his Captain had come to see the captured leader of the _Flying Dutchman_, with the strange man in tow…

A man who had whispered those strange words in his ear, with the unctuousness and the talent of the Caribbean's most famous silver-tongue…

… _Silver-tongue?_

Will's gasped as realization hit him with the force of a crashing thunderbolt, filling his lungs with air and the brusque movement sent sharp shooting pains inside his bloodied torso. In his tired brains, the word _"Silver"_ added itself to _"Whelp", "Savvy" _and_ "Compass" _to reach the only logical conclusion.

_Jack, it was Jack! Captain Jack Sparrow was aboard the _Conqueror_!_

**

* * *

**_On Isla de Muerta…_

"The chest is near! I can feel it…" said Jack while clutching tightly at the compass in his hand. Glued to his side, Red Hand Pete couldn't detach his eyes from the fleur-de-lys needle, making him squint terribly and trip over every stone and unevenness found on the path, giving a very poor display of the dignity inherent to a person in command. Behind them, the dozen pirates followed suit, grumbling and hacking at every branch with their swords in a vain attempt to clear the way, looking none too happy about the impromptu promenade through the trees and the rocks.

_Isla de Muerta_ hadn't changed much since Jack's last visit, more than six years ago. It was still the same God-forsaken bit of land full of thick vegetation with solid roots hemming at huge rocks, making them look like the claws of a giant bird of prey. The air was hot like a Turkish bath, swarms of mosquitoes harassed the visitors and sometimes the call of a wild animal would startle the seamen, making them remember the ghost stories Roberts had been telling non-stop since the Captain had decided to go to this island. Even if they had seen only a few parrots and a fleeing wild pig since they had disembarked, the sailors were holding on their weapons for dear life and their watering eyes were scrutinizing every tree's leaf and every ground's shadow in case of a demon would be hiding there.

"_Not feeling so __proud, are ye, mates?" _had thought Jack ironically when he had witnessed the pirates' anxiousness. _"You were showing more confidence in torturing Will! Disgusting leeches… Just wait 'til you see what I have in store for you!"_

Jack had never been a scrupulous person in his life but this time, he had a better reason to con people than filling up his own pockets with gold; oh sure, he would be a rich man after leaving _Isla de Muerta_ in about an hour – he wouldn't be the unbeatable Captain Jack Sparrow otherwise – but he would free his little brother and annihilate Red Hand Pete with such incredible panache that the echoes of his exploits would reach the moon, no less!

But it wasn't the moment to be distracted by his permanent dreams of glory: Jack was close to his goal, and he needed all his concentration to make the compass indicate the dearest wish of **his** heart. If the needle accidentally pointed somewhere else, Red Hand Pete would scream treachery and his friendship with "John Silver" would meet a very abrupt end!

"_Remember the tale of the lion and the gnat, Jacky ol'__ boy? The one where the insect meets its end in a spider's web after vanquishing the king of the jungle? You don't want to play the part of the gnat, do you? So focus and lead Red Hand Pete right to your trap, and soon you will celebrate your victory by drinking all the rum the Caribbean isles have ever produced!"_

"Where is the Dead Man's Chest, Silver?" asked Red Hand Pete anxiously. "How can you be sure it isn't buried in the beach? Maybe we should go back and start digging sand…"

"Captain, just take a look at the compass' needle, will you? It hasn't moved an inch since I've interrogated your prisoner and it points, straight as an arrow, in the direction of this mountain. If we had passed the location of the chest, the needle would have lost its rigidity to turn at random – that's how I know we are heading in the right direction. Believe me, I have years of experience handling that compass and it has never lead me astray."

"All right, but still! Why Turner would have buried the chest so far from the beach? Every pirate hides his booty in the sand, it's a tradition! So Turner would have acted like everybody else, don't you think so?"

"Ah, but we seek for a special kind of treasure; and its owner isn't exactly a normal man! The Dead Man's Chest contains a unique item, far more worthy than all the valuables of the world, so it would be quite imprudent from Turner's part to "simply" bury it in the sand. He'd know the beach would be the first place to be searched, so he must have complicated the things a little… Like for all exceptional treasures. But Turner hadn't counted on your courage and my cleverness, savvy?" added Jack slyly, and a satisfied grin passed on Red Hand Pete's lips.

"Captain!" exclaimed Lewis from behind. "How long is it gunna be? It's too damn hot in this damn forest!"

Red Hand Pete opened his mouth to order his man to be quiet, but Jack beat him to it:

"Oooh, someone must have told Lewis that if you work too hard, you could sweat!" said "John Silver" with a comical falsetto voice.

The rest of the crew guffawed in laughter, making Lewis cast angry glances at the ring-eyed man, but Jack kept on walking, every inch the man on a mission who wouldn't be distracted by anything. The _Conqueror_'s commander silently approved this attitude: at least, a man entirely dedicated to help him concretize his dreams of eternal powers!

"It has been less than an hour since we've left the beach. Now shut your trap!" barked Red Hand Pete in the direction of the sailors, his hand resting on the pistol strapped to his weapons' belt. The underlying threats made the men walk quicker, hacking at the branches standing on their ways with much more enthusiasm!

After a short while, Jack stopped short on his tracks and, as on cue, Red Hand Pete was at his side.

"What is it, Silver?"

"It's here! The compass indicates the direction of… this cave!" said Jack while pointing at the dark opening dug by centuries of erosion through the mountain's rocky flanks. The path they had been treading on was disappearing inside the cavern, and the men could hardly contain their joy at the thought of leaving the insect-infested woods to get some shelter from the sun, the heat and the mosquitoes' bites.

Jack also smiled, but it wasn't for the same reason as his traveling companions'. His compass had directed them to the dearest wish of Jack's heart: right to the cavern where, a few years ago, that traitorous Hector Barbossa had pilled the booty collected with the mutinous crew of the_ Black Pearl_. For almost ten years, that arrogant ostrich-plumed wearer had pillaged and terrorized the Caribbean Sea, raiding Spanish ships heading back to Seville from the country's colonies in Mexico and Peru, all this to pile up monies… in vain! Jack had been both impressed and disgusted by the amount of riches gathered in this rocky cache, when he had infiltrated the place with then-blacksmith Will Turner to save free-spirited governor's daughter Elizabeth Swann, held hostage by Barbossa. His former First Mate sure hadn't wasted lost time after overthrowing Jack from his captaincy of the _Black Pearl_; but keeping gold in heaps without the means to use it was simply a replay of the torment of Tantalus!

"_Poor Hector… Smart for treason, but dumb for action!"_ snickered Jack inwardly, but Red Hand Pete's voice at his ear interrupted his thoughts:

"In here, Silver? You are sure the Dead Man's Chest is in this cavern?"

"Look at the needle, Captain! It is pointing straight at it! Turner must have transported it using the same path we have walked on. Nice hiding-place, by the way: far enough from the beach, protected from the sea and the elements, without having to bother with digging a deep hole to bury the treasure… Turner only had one day ashore to hide the chest, so he had to find the right spot on the first try. If I were allowed only one day at land every ten years, I wouldn't loose myself with stupid hesitations!"

Jack's words earned him another good pounding on the back from his would-be partner.

"OUCH! Please watch it, Captain!"

"Really, it must be Providence who made us meet at the Faithful Bride Tavern! All right, men, move it! We're entering the cavern and be mindful, there might be pits and crevasses in there!" yelled Red Hand Pete, kicking Lewis' bottom because he wasn't running fast enough for his tastes.

Jack followed suit, his back muscles hurting from receiving too many slaps, but in a swift movement he packed the magnetic marvel inside his shirt, just under Will's necklace. He wouldn't use it now that the enemy was heading right into his trap!

And no need to bother Red Hand Pete with explanations about the grotto's topography, either. Especially not about its unofficial "back way door", the underwater lagoon which was linking the cavern to the sea. Its outside entrance was hidden at high tide by a short waterfall. When sailing through the cascade in a longboat, it would land safely on the lagoon's water after a harrowing drop. An inconspicuous entrance that foxy Captain Jack Sparrow had used with naive-but-not-blind Will to rescue Elizabeth just before the lass was to be executed by Barbossa and his cursed pirates…

Completely blinded by John Silver's promises, the men rushed towards the former hiding place of Barbossa's treasures… and right into their unenviable fate.

"_You've asked for it, pals__. You will rue the day you've dared to defy the magnificent Captain Jack Sparrow!"_

* * *

Galvanized by the promises of easy-gained riches, the _Conqueror_'s shipmates made torches out of rod-shaped pieces of wood and rags soaked with pitch, and hurried inside the cave's darkness. All fear of ghosts or perils had vanished by the renewal of their Captain's promises, and they wouldn't back down now being so close to the treasure!

Red Hand Pete was almost out of his mind with impatience and greediness: at least, the Dead Man's Chest will be his! He will become immortal and have his revenge on every man who had dared to stand on his way! And Turner would be the first one to feel his wrath: before stabbing the heart, Red Hand Pete will make sure his prisoner's last moments on Earth would be terrible. Long's tortures would appear as pleasantries compared to the cruelties awaiting Turner once the Dead Man's Chest would be aboard the _Conqueror_!

The path was leading between boulders, towards a slope downhill, the echoes of their footsteps multiplied tenfold by the huge underground system. But after the group passed through the cave's long entrance, disappointment greeted the sailors as they avidly explored every small cavern on each side of the corridor under the illumination given by the flickering torchlight: it was clear that these rooms were empty, except for a few bats and rats.

"Where is the treasure?" asked Maxwell in a whiny tone, acting like a kid who couldn't find any Easter eggs hidden in his parents' garden.

"Keep on walking, gents. My compass points straight ahead of us!" lied Jack through his teeth, feeling very satisfied by the tiredness on the pirates' face: that little impromptu detour through the island's forest had done the trick to wear the enemies down!

Soon, the men reached the main room, the one where an ill-gained booty had been crammed in by ambitious but doomed pirates, years ago. But now the place was deserted, save for a few dismantled empty coffers and rotten barrels. There wasn't a single doubloon on sight! With shrieks of furor, the mariners kicked down the containers in the vague hope the gold and gems would appear. One of them jumped head-first in a barrel in his eagerness to find his fortune, but the movement only made it fall on the floor and roll until it crashed against a rock!

Red Hand Pete took no notice of his men's anger since his mind was preoccupied by something else, but Jack had to refrain from laughing at the sailors' dismay!

"There's no monies in here!" yelled Jefferson.

"Nutthink here, too!"

"Nothing in there! The coffers are empty!"

"It's all empty! There's not even the shadow of a guinea!" croaked Maxwell.

"_Of course not, you idiot__!" _thought Jack. _"The whole place has been cleaned up! After Commodore Norrington had "brilliantly" captured the _Black Pearl_'s mutineers – with a little help from Will, Lizzie and yours truly -, he had ordered the booty stolen by Barbossa to be loaded on the _H.M.S. Dauntless_, so he would come back to Port Royal as the hero who had captured the pirates and retrieved the valuables… All this to get an Admiral's sword, Lizzie's hand and my neck in a hangman's noose… The whole stolen treasures went back to Port Royal, except for... my big surprise!"_

"Keep on looking, gents! With a bit of luck, you'll find some trouser buttons!" jokingly said the pale-faced man.

"SILVER!" roared Red Hand Pete. "Don't waste my time with those idiocies! Where is the Dead Man's Chest?"

"Idiocies? But Captain! You've promised us monies!" protested Brown.

"Brown, I am fed up with you!" and the _Conqueror_'s commander shot at the seaman at point blank, killing him instantly.

The pistol's shot sounded like thunder inside the magnifying walls of the cave, momentarily deafening the men inside. The sailors looked in alarm at the body of their dead comrade lying on the stones, a bloody hole between his wide, incredulous eyes, the second after Martingale to be executed in less than twenty-four hours. The crew was definitively paying a high price for the search of the unknown treasure: at this rate, there wouldn't be a shipmate standing on his feet soon! Had the Captain planned to kill every one last of them to keep the whole lot of supposed riches for him?

"Any more cowards who dares to challenge me?" said Red Hand Pete. "So I suggest you to keep your stupid mouths shut until we're back to the ship, otherwise I'll shoot the bloody bunch of you! SILVER! ANSWER ME DAMMIT! Where is the chest?"

"Well," said Jack quickly, unable to resist using his trademark fine words, "According to this cave's geography, and considering the importance of the searched-for item, also taking in count the fact that Turner couldn't be fussy about the spot to place the chest alongside with the idea he'd have to get an easy access to it in case of emergencies… My best guess?"

"By all means," hissed Red Hand Pete, looking absolutely furious by every second of delay, gripping at his fuming pistol as if he wanted to clobber someone with it.

"The Dead Man Chest is… up there!" said Jack with a flourish movement of his hand, pointing at a large hillock situated in the center of the cave.

Every _Conqueror_'s shipmates raised their heads, not understanding what "John Silver" was referring to. Then, Red Hand Pete's aquamarine eyes widened in shock: a hole in the cave's ceiling was letting in sunlight, which illumined the truncated stalagmite and a chest perched atop of it. A stone chest, with its lid pushed on, its color was almost identical to the rocky support and under the light it would have been almost undetectable. A nice try to camouflage it!

"The… The Dead Man's Chest! At least, it is mine!" yelled Red Hand Pete out of joy, drawing out his sword and jumping on the hillock to climb it like a staircase. His men followed in a flash, their dead comrade completely forgotten by this brusque turn of events, blinded once more by their quest for riches and their Captain had to kick one or two sailors to make them keep a respectful distance. Only Jack didn't bother to climb the stalagmite and come closer to the chest: he knew damn well what its contents were and he prudently remained in the background.

Red Hand Pete was salivating like a rabid dog and strange growls were coming out from his throat. But after a while, his brains registered many abnormalities about the object of his desire: first of all, he'd never imagined the Dead Man's Chest would be made of solid stone, making it look difficult to move. There were strange decorations engraved all over it: Aztecan sculptures in bas-relief, patterns and glyphs. He didn't have any recollection of the goddess Calypso being part of Mexican mythology! And the heavy lid didn't bear any closing device, so why on Earth a key was supposed to be absolutely necessary to open the chest, according to the information gathered nearby the Pantano River?

"Silver? Are you sure this is the Dead Man's Chest?" asked Red Hand Pete.

"Frankly, Captain, what else this would be?" said Jack from downstairs, a fake look of offense on his face. "Haven't you noticed the grinning human skulls decorating its sides? I can see them from here. This chest screams of "dead men"!"

"But there isn't any lock on it! So why some of the bayou people I've "interrogated" had confessed about an indispensable key with a double-stemmed design?"

"Well, the answer is quite simple, Captain: they have been lied to, and they unknowingly repeated those lies while telling the legend over and over again! The key never existed, it was just a ruse to make the search for the chest even more difficult, but you can bet your brig that Turner's heart is beating inside this stony container!"

"So the bayou people died for a lie? That's madness!"

"That's the stuff legends are made of," corrected Jack with a shrug.

"We'll soon know if you're right! Burke, Baker! Take off the lid!" barked Red Hand Pete, indicating the stone chest with his sword.

The sailors obeyed at once, each one grabbing at a side of the lid and heaved hard. But it soon proved to be too heavy for them: grunting under the effort, Burke and Baker joined their forces to throw aside the lid, making it crash at the bottom of the hillock and missing Jack's feet for about an inch. The missile made the ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_ to step back, nearby the underwater lagoon which was both a discreet entrance and an escape route.

A collective "OOOHH!" of surprise resounded across the cavern's main room: hundreds of gold coins were stocked inside the chest, each of them marked by the image of an Aztecan-style skull!

Howling in joy, the sailors plunged their greedy paws in the stony container, including Red Hand Pete who dug frenetically inside the gold, throwing coins everywhere on the cavern's floor in spite of his men's protestations. The enemy captain was as thirsty for riches as any other ruffian, but he was much more concerned in finding the heart!

"Rich! We're all rich!" yelled Jefferson.

"Looks like Turner didn't go sailing without packing some biscuits, fellas!" brayed Maxwell.

"At last! Our troubles are over! We're disgustingly RICH!" said Burke.

In the meantime, Jack used the men's distraction to quietly move back until he'd reach the shores of the underwater lagoon. But one of the sailors – Baker – had carelessly dropped his bag and its contents had been spilled on the cave's floor. Amongst them was a small glass bottle which Jack stole and uncorked it expert-like, before sniffing at the smells coming from the neck.

By all the pirates of the Caribbean! **RUM! **Now he was getting in real business!

After a few minutes of search beneath the gold, the _Conqueror_'s commander was feeling his killing urges again, this time against his new pal. His men, turning crazy from covetousness, had climbed down the hillock to fill their pockets with discarded gold coins and fight with each other like monkeys in heat, but Turner's heart was still nowhere in sight!

"SILVER!" roared the man in frustration.

"Yes?" asked Jack while carelessly tossing away the recently-emptied bottle with a hearty burp. Oh, that rum had definitively hit the spot!

Red Hand Pete stared incredulously at "Silver", who was calmly taking a folded dark red bandana out of his cloak's pocket before tying it up around his wild mane of dark hair. Then he shredded off the oversized coat and his tie to keep only a white shirt under a black vest, and some hard-linen pants tucked under a pair of sea boots. He was smiling ironically at the brutish blonde, who felt a shiver of dread running up his spine. There was more to Silver than met the eye… the man looked like a pirate! And Red Hand Pete was starting to feel ridiculous standing on a hillock while his sailors were too concerned about the precious booty to protect their Captain!

"Silver! What is the meaning of this? Turner's heart isn't in the chest!"

"Got it one in one! You haven't deduced yet the fact that this isn't the Dead Man's Chest?"

"WHAT?" thundered Red Hand Pete, "But you've said…"

"Ah, I utter so many things in a day, savvy? Some people say I'm a loquacious person, but I prefer the term of "complex wordplay" to design my verbal activity, which is a very artful mean to get my humble yet worthy person out of tight situations, or to make my enemies hear what they want to hear the most. You wouldn't believe how many imbeciles I've fooled with my rich vocabulary over the years: prison guards, harbormasters, navy officers, East India Trading Company officials, Lord Beckett… And even Davy Jones! Ah, that one used to be the pride and joy of my tremendous list of successes… but you sure have beaten him from a mile with your incredible stupidity!"

"What the Hell are you babbling about?"

"Oops, I think I've happened to fool you! You and your whole bunch of idiots, you have fallen for it hook, line and sinker! But then again, I don't think your men will complain too much about me leading them to _Isla de Muerta_ to pillage this stone container… at least for the moment."

The sailors, sensing that something was wrong, stopped their struggling to look at the pale man who had suddenly changed his looks; but Jack noticed that their pants' pockets were bulging from the amount of coins stashed inside, meaning they wouldn't be too prompt to attack him if it would ever compromise their booty's safety.

"Silver, answer me before I skewer you!" said Red Hand Pete in a tone betraying his lost of self-control. "Why have you led us to this place?"

"What are you complaining about? I have just introduced you to a reasonable amount of gold. Gentlemen, it is my pleasure and my privilege to present to you… The Chest of Cortez!" said Jack with a curvet and an ample movement of the arm toward the coffer placed on the shortened stalagmite.

The sailors looked as dumb as fishes driven ashore on a beach at low tide; apparently, they didn't care about the chest's name and they couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. Their Captain had promised them riches during his pompous proclamation at the helm, so why was he looking downright murderous at the man who had leaded them to their fortune?

"SILVER! I…" started Red Hand Pete, but Jack cut him off.

"My initials are C.J.S., and it doesn't stand for Cunning John Silver but for… _**Captain Jack Sparrow**_!"

A deadly silence followed the prideful declaration. The seamen were getting more and more confused; their Captain had never told them about Silver being also a Captain, and they had never heard about a ship being commanded by two officers. Red Hand Pete looked like he was chocking on his own indignation: he had been had! The fake John Silver had dared to mock him! All of his miraculous assistance had been nothing but a sham, and the man wasn't a magic erudite, he was just another scallywag!

"You… You are…"

"The one and unique Captain Jack Sparrow, yes! My reputation precedes me! I am the hero of the maelstrom battle, the conqueror of the Kraken, the nightmare of any kind of authorities, the new man of a thousand ruses after the legendary Ulysses, the undisputed Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea and the rightful commander of the _Black Pearl_, how may I disoblige you? You've heard about me, haven't you? No? Oh, never mind! I expected nothing else from lamentable specimens of pirates like you, actually. But rest assured that you won't forget my handsome face for the years to come!"

"But…"

"Gentlemen, your company has been very enriching to me! I haven't thought I would ever meet such a formidable gang of lamebrains, but you have managed to prove me wrong. Especially your anger-prone and unwilling-to-compromise Captain, who obviously doesn't have the temperament to lead but you are too chicken to overthrown him! Your Captain is about as useful as an empty rum flagon! And by the way, I hate people who slap me on the back!"

"MEN! SEIZE HIM!" hollered Red Hand Pete, but his sailors stayed rooted to the spot. The weight of the coins was indeed making them heavy and clumsy, and most of their loyalty had melted like snow under the sun after they had gained enough gold to live the rest of their lives without working.

"One word of advice before I take my leave, gents!" said Jack with a blinding smile and a careless aplomb. "A proverb says: _"All that glitters isn't gold"_. I'd suggest you to think about it… assuming you've ever used your head for other purposes than growing dirty hair on it, that is!"

And with this last Parthian shot Captain Jack Sparrow, as surefooted as any cat, jumped backward to do some acrobatic somersaults; the last one made him dive right into the lagoon's dark waters, leaving behind him a bunch of very stunned pirates and a fuming Red Hand Pete!

* * *

_Jack! Jack Sparrow was __aboard the _Conqueror_, incognito!_

Will Turner gritted his teeth, trying desperately to not pass out once again from the pain coming from his wounds. He couldn't start to imagine how witty Jack had ever managed to step foot on Red Hand Pete's ship, but he was grateful for this tiny miracle. He remembered having prayed for his friend's help during his captivity, clinging to the hope that the world-famous escape artist would come to his rescue… A fool's hope, which had turned out to be true! It was unbelievable!

Will struggled against his bounds, trying to free his wrists from the chain tying them up. He had to get out of this crate to flee the _Conqueror_ with Jack! Otherwise, he'd never forgive himself if something happened to his friend who had come to save him. But even if the end of torture sessions had given him a welcomed reprieve, Red Hand Pete's trap had worked too well: the young Turner was still too weak from both his prolonged contact with soil and Shiao Long's interrogation techniques. His arms were completely paralyzed from their upright position and the lack of food added with blood loss had withered his muscles.

But he had to work his way out of this iron maiden, Jack's life was also at stake! If Red Hand Pete ever learned about Sparrow's true identity, he would have him executed on the spot!

Will tried to move his lower body and moaned in agony. When Gregorson and Lestrade had half-buried him in the crate, they hadn't bothered to tie his legs. But the compacted soil had inflicted him excruciating pain, comparable of being ripped apart by sharks' jaws; it had worked beautifully to prevent the young man to try and get out of his coffin, and then he had been tortured non-stop for days. But his situation had changed since there wasn't a _Conqueror_'s crewmember on sight, Long was jailed, and Jack had come: Will Turner wouldn't become a burden to the man who had taken enormous risks to free him.

Biting his lower lip until it drawn blood, the young Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ moved his right foot under the heavy earth filling the crate. It hurt him abominably, as if he had been stabbed by razor-sharp shards of glass, but Will kept on flexing and loosening his toes again and again, scratching beneath the soil inch by inch until the solid mass would slowly loosen its grip around his foot.

The pain was maddening and the result was at its lowest, but Will Turner wouldn't give up.

Suffering beyond words, the young man kept on moving his foot.

Inch by inch.

TBC…


	20. The all time Pirate of Pirates

**Disclaimer:** the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- A big "Thank you" to all the persons who have added this story to their Favorite and Alert Lists!

- This chapter contains references to one of my stories, _"In vino veritas"_.

- Reminder: Mazu is the Chinese sea goddess who protects fishermen and sailors.

- I have no windsurfing experience and some of the details come from Wikipedia.

* * *

**Chapter 20: The all-time Pirate of Pirates**

_In the caves__ of _Isla de Muerta_…_

"_I'm number one! I'm number one! I'm number one!"_

Captain Jack Sparrow was swimming under the dark waters of the lagoon, inwardly singing his own praises. He had done it! He had lured the worst sailors of the _Conqueror_'s into pillaging cursed gold, and made a fool out of Red Hand Pete in the process! Part B of his ultra-intelligent plan was completed!

"_I a__m the greatest pirate of the Caribbean! The best! The most magnificent! The champion of the world! The emperor of scoundrels! The undefeated and unequaled and invincible and smartest and well-read and… and…"_

A muffled sound was heard behind him, followed by a small, rounded projectile ripping through the water via a violent trajectory.

"_Whoa! It looks like Dead Brain Pete is discharging his pistols in the lagoon, hoping to hit his former associate!"_

Jack wasn't worried, though; he knew by past experience that those waters were deep and dark enough to hide him, and he was holding his breath so a rosary of bubbles wouldn't betray his position. Another muffed explosion, followed by a third one… A fourth one… There! The enemy captain had fired in vain all the guns he had hidden under his vest, and now he had nothing but his sword to maintain discipline amongst his money-greedy crewmembers. That will keep him occupied for a moment!

Jack knew he had to go back to the _Conqueror_ to give Bill and Ammand the signal for launching the attack, before he'd free William from his torture chambers. But first things first; after all, the stupendous Captain Sparrow hadn't gone through all the trouble to mislead Red Hand Pete to _Isla de Muerta_ without a little hidden agenda of his own… Something even Bootstrap Bill didn't know about.

Before the elder Turner had come to Tortuga and begged him for help, Jack had been thinking long and hard about how to retrieve some hidden cash, unfortunately located in an island where submerged reefs made its approach difficult – especially for a damaged dinghy, and the mighty _Sparrow Hawk_ was in dire need of repairs. It happened that Jack's money had been stashed for years on _Isla de Muerta_…

Diving deeper in the waters, Jack soon felt the rocky and weedy bed under his fingers. Before leaving Red Hand Pete's company in a superb display of acrobatics, the world's scruffiest pirate had pinpointed a big rock, positioned almost in the middle of the lagoon. He had used that stone as a marker, after…

… _He had vanquished Hector Barbossa in duel, inside the same cavern._

Will, Lizzie and he had lifted the Aztec gods' curse, by placing a few drops of Will's blood inside the Chest of Cortez. Jack's former crew had been captured by Commodore Norrington and his troops aboard the _H.M.S. Dauntless_, no longer protected by their skeletal immortality; and their usurping commander had meet his (temporary) end at Jack's sword, desperately clutching an apple in his hand.

But afterwards, while Will and Lizzie were struggling to find words that would express their feelings for each other, Jack had disappeared into the background. He knew these two lovebirds needed some privacy… but he had been also aware that the Royal Marines would invade the cavern to pick up the crammed riches – except for the Chest of Cortez, that is. That container had to stay on _Isla de Muerta_, since Norrington wouldn't want one of the cursed gold coins to fall into the captured pirates' hands before their hanging!

So while the youngsters were distracted, and before leaving the island and "surrender" to Lizzie's stuck-up official fiancé, Jack had grabbed a large, neat-foot oiled purse – which used to carry the money of a rich Spanish merchant – and filled it with all the things he could get his hands on. Grab everything you can take, and give nothing back! The purse had been quickly stuffed with jewelries, un-cursed coins and a precious brooch with an amethyst centerpiece as big as a seagull's egg, diamonds, rubies, strings of pearls, an emerald mounted on a necklace, and two gold ingots which would act as ballast. Then Jack had wrapped the purse with an oilcloth, tied up the whole package with a length of rope and quietly dumped it into the lagoon's dark waters, nearby the big rock, vowing to retrieve his personal treasure someday. The rainy-day money, saved from confiscation by Norrington, would wait for him until it'd be needed to finance another pirating expedition.

Jack had planned to pick up his spared cash after he had been saved by Will from the Port Royal gallows. Unfortunately, Commodore Norrington had hunted him down right after his spectacular escape and the _Black Pearl_'s Captain had had to flee. Only a hurricane near Tripoli had managed to shake off the obstinate Navy man after one year of chase, allowing Jack to return sailing on the Caribbean Sea; but he hadn't gotten much of a reprieve: his 13-year-old deal with Davy Jones suddenly came back into his life…

Squinting in the darkness, Jack blindly searched through the lagoon's bed, at the bottom of the big rock. He could hold his breath for more than two minutes – since he was an accomplished diver – but even an exceptional pirate had to fill his lungs with fresh air every now and then. And… There! His fingers had bumped into a soft mass, covered with shells, and Jack grabbed it with much enthusiasm. The immersed object was ripened from its shroud of weeds and debris and Jack gave a good kick to move his body upwards.

As soon as his face broke the water and delicious air entered his lungs, he swam to hide behind the big rock with the sling bag tucked under one arm. In the cavern's dim light, no one noticed he had resurfaced. A rapid glance confirmed him that Red Hand Pete was still on the shore, busy arguing with his men: obviously, the enemy captain wanted to sick his dogs on him, whereas the sailors wouldn't bulge from the Chest of Cortez.

"You traitors!" roared Red Hand Pete. "I'm ordering you to dive in this lagoon right this instant and bring me back Silver –I mean, Sparrow!"

"Swimmin' after dat skinny fish in those dark waters? Nothin' doin'!" said Jefferson, looking bewildered.

"Besides, I dunno how ta swim, Cap'tain!" added Maxwell.

"And da gold would make us sink!"

"Aye, and why bother goin' after 'im?" asked Baker. "We've found da treasure! And Silver or Sparrow or whutever 'is name is, didn't even bothered to take his share!"

"We're rich, Cap'tain! It's solid gold! I broke ah tooth on one of these coins! Here, take some!" said Burke, waving around his hand full of Aztec gold.

"YOU BLOCKHEAD!" thundered Red Hand Pete, slapping at Burke's hand and making coins fly all over the place. "I DON'T CARE about these baubles!"

"Why d'you do that for, Cap'tain? You're fussy?" asked Burke while kneeling down to retrieve the gold.

"I wanted the Dead Man's Chest! And Sparrow lied to me! He stood there and deliberately lied to me! I want his head!"

"Aye, well, tough luck, because we wanted monies and the man led us ta it. So I ain't gunna run after 'im and endanger me treasure. Chase 'im if yu want, Cap'tain, but I'm goin' back to the _Conqueror_ with me pockets full!" said a tough-looking sailor with a scarred face.

"Me too!" added ten more voices in unison.

Jack quietly snickered behind his rock. What a bunch of idiots… They never suspected the gold to be tainted! They really believed "John Silver" had guided them to a chest full of coins out of the goodness of his heart! But his plan had worked: blinded by their newfound fortune, the sailors wouldn't chase him for the moment.

Red Hand Pete almost swallowed his sword in rage: he wouldn't get his revenge against the fake Silver! His men refused to obey him – and he had stupidly discharged all his guns earlier, meaning he couldn't use firepower as arguments. And the idea of him swimming after the traitor in that unknown underwater lagoon never crossed his mind! Whoever Sparrow was, he had managed to mislead him and to spread rebellion in his crew's mind – but to what goal?

But Red Hand Pete would neither waste time thinking about Sparrow's motives, nor renounce to his immortality dreams. Not everything was lost! He still had Turner, chained in the orlop deck, and he'd use every mean at his disposal to make the young man talk. And if they were fast enough, he could reach the longboats with his men and row back to the _Conqueror_, marooning Sparrow in this tiny island for the rest of his life.

"ALL RIGHT, MOVE IT! We're going back to the beach! Jump to it, you scallywags!"

"But what about the riches, Captain?"

"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU MORONS! We have to reach the longboats before Sparrow! Take some gold if you want, but there will be Hell to pay if he manages to steal a longboat and escape from _Isla de Muerta_! He's capable of blowing up our brig!"

Those last words managed to pierce through the pirates' gold-obsessed mind. They were sailors to the core, after all, and any mention of their ship being endangered was enough to make them regain their senses. With a few murmurs, the _Conqueror_'s crewmembers headed for the caverns' exit through the tunnels, since it was the only way back they knew and they weren't bold enough to try the underwater lagoon.

Red Hand Pete was the last one to leave the cave, but he cast a last hateful glance at the Chest of Cortez and shook his fist in the direction where Jack had dived: "You'll pay for this, Sparrow. I will clip your wings!" yelled the blond-haired pirate, his voice magnified by the stone walls.

And with these parting words, Red Hand Pete followed his men, heading for the outside while kicking at the few Aztec coins forgotten on the floor.

Captain Sparrow waited until the echoes of the men's footsteps decreased in volume; then, he unknotted the package's rope and discarded the oilcloth to check on the leather purse tucked inside. As soon as its strings were unfastened, the reflection of marvelous tiny lights illuminated Jack's obsidian-colored eyes, making them shine with joy: the stashed gems, jewelry, gold ingots and coins, protected from deterioration by the waterproof cloth, were intact and sparkling beautifully in all their glory!

At least! He had retrieved his rainy-day money! His financial troubles were over! He had enough cash to have the _Sparrow Hawk_ repaired from top to bottom – but what was he thinking? He had the means to buy a ship! And it would be fully his! No more stealing from the East India Trading Company, deals with an octopus-faced monster or disputes with a backstabbing former First Mate! It would be a brand-new vessel, fresh from Blackwall's shipyards in London, built from his own plans and full of caches to hide stolen booties: the _Black Pearl II_!

Jack grinned like a cat curled up in a comfortable basket. _His_ ship, a floating legend, the fastest of the Caribbean, the marvel outsmarting all kind of enemies! He was picturing in his mind Hector Barbossa, green with envy and eating his hat out of frustration while watching his former Captain standing proudly at the helm of the new _Pearl_. Jack would be free forever on this ship… And no rascals to serve under its mast, either: only reliable persons would be allowed on its pristine deck! Joshammee Gibbs of course, and Anamaria if she was still inclined to piracy; Marty could be recruited, too, as well as old John Cotton and his chatterbox parrot; Murtaugh and Mullroy would become real seamen under Gibbs' tutelage; and of course, the indispensables Turners: Bill, Will and Lizzie…

… _Will…_

The smile vanished from Jack's lips. Those were great daydreams for the future, but he had more pressing matters before him! Slipping the big leather purse inside his shirt – the garment was becoming a real safe – he swam with energy in the lagoon's darkness: this shortcut would allow him to reach the _Conqueror_'s longboats before Red Hand Pete and his minions, provided Jack would succeed in climbing up the waterfall's rocks first!

* * *

_In the _Conqueror_'s orlop deck…_

Will Turner sighed in exhaustion. He was covered with sweat from his efforts to free his legs, and the salty water was mixing itself in the raw cuts of his open wounds, increasing the pain. His sufferings were worse than the ones he had endured at Long's hands, if possible. His mind was screaming at him to stop, to stay still, that it was a lost cause and he'd never get out of this soil-filled crate on his own, but Will kept on fighting.

Captain Jack Sparrow was aboard the _Conqueror_. It had been him, under a disguise, who had whispered those code-words followed by his loud proclamation about a heading. And it had been Jack who had briefly stroke Will's hair in a discreet gesture of comfort, just before leaving the orlop deck.

Jack was here; he had somehow learned about him being captured, and he had come to free him. Will was certain of that. He knew the depths of Jack's affection towards him after it had been revealed during the maelstrom battle; and also, months afterwards, when the young Turner had found Captain Jack Sparrow completely drunk aboard a dinghy, in the middle of nowhere. The silver-tongued pirate had changed a lot after his stay in Davy Jones' Locker: it had damaged his psyche, but also revealed his heart. And Will knew he played an important part in Jack's life.

Clenching his jaw to the maximum, the prisoner moved his legs again, crunching the earthen element under his feet. He had to get out of the crate and help Jack! His progresses were so slow it would have discouraged anybody else, but Will Turner was no ordinary human. Apart from the supernatural powers bestowed to him after his forced captaincy of the _Flying Dutchman_, the young man had a never-say-die attitude and a heroic soul. His physical heart had been replaced inside his chest by his love, and it shone whenever Captain Turner thought about his family, spoke with his father or consoled a lost soul. Unknowingly to Will, his commitment to those he cared for illuminated his handsome features, making his whole being glow.

It would have make Shiao Long crazy if he'd ever learned that his jealousy towards the captive's physique was doomed from the start: Will's exceptional beauty was fueled by love! But the Chinese just remained seated on the damp floor of his cell, sulking and looking moodily at the wounded young man who was struggling against his bounds in vain.

Since his capture, the devastating news about the _Dutchman_'s destruction and the threats on Elizabeth's and Little William's heads, Will had fallen in a state of despair… until a moment ago. The realization of Jack's presence aboard the _Conquero_r had brought him back hope and, in spite of the screaming-mad pain, the young Captain was resolute to wriggle his way out of this entrapping "iron maiden" and be reunited with his friend.

Long glanced at the prisoner again… and his eyes widened in shock. At first, he thought he was seeing things, but a second look made him quiver in fear and whisper _"Mazu!"_ over and over.

Will's half-buried body was radiating light… a flickering glow, but getting steadier and brighter.

* * *

_On the beach__ of _Isla de Muerta_…_

A soaked-to-the-bone Captain Jack Sparrow ran on the sandy beach, his treasure-bag jumping beneath his shirt at every step. Damn it! He had wasted precious time dealing with the waterfall's slippery rocks! He had fallen twice back in the underwater lagoon while attempting to climb them, and then he had lost his footings once again after crossing the small cascade at the third try, making him land ungraciously in the sea. When Jack had reached the shore, he had to take a few minutes to pour the water out of his boots; then, he had to run through the forest with his wet clothes weighting him down, while making sure the rainy-day purse remained safely tucked against his chest.

One good thing about these repeated baths, though: it had cleaned his face of the cadaverous makeup he had to put on for his "John Silver" personae. No more ringed eyes or pallid skin: Jack's natural-born good looks were back!

Grumbling and silently cursing the waterfall's rocks to Jones' Locker, Jack finally arrived at the _Conqueror_'s longboats. A hard wind was blowing in the direction of the open sea and Red Hand Pete and his men were nowhere in sight, but the _Black Pearl_'s former Captain knew it was just a matter of time before they'd arrive. So, there wasn't a moment to loose. Frantically searching inside one of the longboats' closets, located under a rowing bench, he found a folded sail, rolls of ropes and… a small axe! Just what he needed for a little sabotage!

Jack swung the axe with the strength born of stress, hitting it against the longboat's floor. One, two, three strikes… The planks were resisting against the tool's iron… Five, Six… Ten strikes…

**CRACK**.

Bull's eye! With a gurgling which was both cheerful and lugubrious, the ocean's waters infiltrated inside the keel through the hole made between the damaged planks. The longboat would be filled up quickly, broken beyond repairs and nailed to the seabed. Red Hand Pete would never be able to go back to his ship with this boat!

Jack mopped his face with his shirt's sleeve: whew! He wasn't born to be a woodcutter. He turned around to climb aboard the second longboat, when loud voices and a shooting noise made him look in the direction of the island's mountain.

"Bugger it!" said the auto-proclaimed notorious pirate between his gold and silver dentition.

Red Hand Pete was running downhill, followed by his men waving pistols and shouting indistinctive threats. They would be here in a few minutes, meaning Jack had to modify his original escape plan: if he'd steal the second longboat to row his way back to the _Conqueror_ as he had foreseen it, he'd still be too close to the beach and, consequently, he'd be at shooting range – and he wouldn't want a pistol's ball to compromise the mechanisms of his admirable physiology, would he? Too much time had been wasted with the waterfall's rocks and running through the forest, and Jack had to find another way to leave _Isla de Muerta_.

Sabotaging the second boat would take him too long… but Captain Jack Sparrow was famous for the crazy ideas he had for his daring escapes. And the wind had blown quite a mad scheme inside his brains! He grabbed the folded sail and the ropes from under the seat of the sabotaged longboat, and he took out the short spare mast from its holders located on its right inner side. Then he used the axe again to rip from the keel a board of about three meters long…

Two minutes of hard work later, Captain Jack Sparrow launched a strange contraption on the waves: a wooden board topped by a rotating short mast bearing a triangular sail, and a wishbone boom to give the sail a good inclination under the wind, all this tied up with ropes secured by sailors' knots. Jack slipped the axe's mantle in his belt – that tool could come in handy – and then he jumped on the board; before his loopy equilibrium would be compromised, he clutched at the wishbone boom and gave a good pull: steered by the tilting and rotating of the mast and sail, the impromptu sailing device went sliding on the ocean's surface, taking Jack away from _Isla de Muerta_ at the incredible speed of eight knots per hour!

"_I'm a genius__! Simply a genius,"_ thought Jack, looking smugly at his wind-powered escape machine. Angry voices could be heard on the beach but a quick look over his shoulder confirmed he was already too far from the shores to be hit by a pistol's shot. Red Hand Pete was looking as if he was getting an apoplexy attack, and Jack couldn't resist yelling in a defiant attitude:

"Alas, Red Hand Pete! You will always remember this as the day you _almost_ caught Captain Jack Sparrow! And the said Captain Jack Sparrow had fooled you in the earnest, right in front of your crew, too! Now look at me, I'm wind-surfing! Wheeee!"

More furious roars, more shots fired from the shipmates, but Jack didn't care: he deftly twisted, rotated and carved the board and mast, instinctively following the wind's changes of direction and complimenting himself every time the product of his fertile imagination would jump high above the waves. He hadn't made such a great escape since he had fled the Pelegostos Island!

Meanwhile on the beach, Red Hand Pete, nearly mad with anger, looked at the fleeing silhouette of Captain Jack Sparrow perched on the frail-looking assemblage of wood planks and sail, swinging and jumping on the sea at an incredible speed. The man was intelligent and resourceful, he'd give him that! But his brainy ideas wouldn't be enough to save him from his wrath; the _Conqueror_'s commander silently swore to follow Sparrow to the bowels of Hell if needed, to get his revenge!

"Ready the longboats! We leave for the ship right now!"

"But Captain, the floor of one boat has been smashed ta pieces! Water is enterin' it through a hole, and it keeps on risin'," said Maxwell.

"NEVER MIND!" roared the blonde-haired pirate. "The whole bunch of you, squeeze yourselves in the remaining longboat and let's go! MOVE IT! We must reach the ship before Sparrow!"

For all its strange looks, the windsurfing board had efficiently carried its passenger to destination. In a few minutes, Jack would reach the _Conqueror_ in no time while Red Hand Pete would still be vociferating at his men in the second longboat, ordering them to break their backs rowing towards their ship. Jack had made his escape in good time and he had the advantage over his enemies again, thanks to his fast thinking and his even faster invention! And the best part was, Jack felt completely at ease using this improvised way to slide on water, as if he were born to use it. Were there any limits to his intellect?

The _Conqueror_, still immobilized on the reef, was very close and Jack could see some of the sailors had gathered on the upper deck, staring down with rounded eyes at the sailboard carrying "John Silver" and heading straight at them. Those men certainly didn't have a clue about what all the commotion was about!

"Now it is time to jump on the enemy ship and send the signal for Bill and Ammand to attack!" said Jack. "But I cannot use ropes and grapnels like a vulgar pirate. As much as it pains me to destroy my marvelous invention, I have to use it as a launching pad to propel my interesting person on this piece of floating refuse Red Hand Pete has the nerve to call a ship! Then again, it's also logical coming from the incredible Captain Jack Sparrow: he is renowned to fly… by the seat of his pants!"

And with those theatrical words, Jack gave a good pull at the wishbone boom: the board yawed abruptly, made an enormous jump above the waves and catapulted its passenger in the air just before crashing against the _Conqueror_'s hull, dismantling the contraption instantly. Jack did a somersault and the momentum sent him exactly where he had wanted: right into the mainmast's ratlines, above the ship's rail! The landing was a little rough – in fact, Captain Jack Sparrow bumped his nose against the roped ladder; but he quickly dismissed this little trifle to climb the ratlines up, as sure-footed as any cat. One quick look downwards made him laugh his head off: considering the astonished faces of Red Hand Pete's men below him, they certainly didn't expect skinny-fish "John Silver" to make such a spectacular entrance on his way back from _Isla de Muerta_!

In mid-way on the ratlines, Jack paused for an instant to get a glimpse of the situation: Red Hand Pete had managed to leave the island's shore in the heavy, overcrowded remaining longboat and he was plying the oars towards the brig; the sailors on the _Conqueror_ were shouting and pointing in the direction of the mainmast, completely disoriented by Jack's stunts; and, in the distance, the _Seref_ was still lying in wait, partly hidden behind the promontory covered with vegetation.

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

"That's impossible!" exclaimed Bill Turner, looking through Ammand's spyglass.

"What is it, Master Bootstrap?" asked the Turkish corsair.

Bill couldn't answer at once, too stunned by what he had just witnessed: Jack had been sailing on the ocean's surface at full speed on an mismatched assemblage of wood planks and a sail; and then seconds later, he had crashed against the enemy ship. But that witty Jack had bounced in the air like a rubber ball to land on the _Conqueror_'s mainmast ratlines! And he was climbing them like a seasoned topman to reach the crow's nest, where the Jolly Roger flag was floating proudly in the blowing wind, above the topgallant sail!

"I don't know how to explain it, Captain Ammand, but Jack has fled _Isla de Muerta_ on an incredible floating device! He had used it to slide on the water as if it was ice, and jump on the _Conqueror_ way before Red Hand Pete could catch up with him; now, he is climbing the ratlines to reach the look-out post!"

"Coming from _Serçe_, nothing surprises me anymore!" answered Ammand while rolling his eyes. "I should have known that walking disaster's plan would be flawed and he'd have to make a dramatic exit… or entrance, whichever comes first! But why in the world is he going up the mainmast's ratlines?"

"I really don't know, Captain Ammand, Jack hasn't précised how he'd leave _Isla de Muerta_ after misleading our enemy there… Besides, it looks like he had failed to maroon him on the island, because Red Hand Pete is rowing back to the _Conqueror_…"

Ammand harrumphed loudly at the news: the man responsible for his cousin Sami's death could climb back aboard his ship for all he cared, he wouldn't escape from his revenge! But he sincerely hoped _Serçe_'s plan wouldn't fail… too much, otherwise there would be no other choices than to attack the brig blindly, with disastrous consequences for Master Bootstrap's son, trapped inside the hull: Red Hand Pete could use his hostage as leverage! But before he could ask another question, his guest announced:

"Jack has reached the crow's nest…"

* * *

_Aboard the _Conqueror_…_

Jack hoisted his body up on the crow's nest, panting heavily. My! It had been a while since he had last climbed those ladders! He had done it countless times in his youth, but this occupation wasn't part of an officer's attributions and he had given it up right after he had acquired his captaincy. Jack decided he'd take a shortcut on his way down!

"Hey, M-M-Mister S-Silver! W-What are yu d-d-doing here?" asked the man on look-out duty with a slurred voice, holding an empty bottle made of transparent glass.

Jack immediately understood the sailor was drunk like a skunk, which was just as well. It also explained why the _Seref_ hadn't be spotted since the _Conqueror_ had been "inadvertently" led to run aground a reef. Trust Red Hand Pete to employ such an idiot as sentinel for his ship!

"What I am doing here is none of your business, my good man! But circumstances call for me to ask you the same question: what does a man of your mediocre abilities is doing up on a crow's nest, pouring the contents of a flagon of good rum down his putrid esophagus while the said man could hand me out the fine cutlass he has strapped to his belt, since it won't be of any use to him whatsoever? Besides, how one sailor could drink rum in presence of Captain Jack Sparrow and not offering him some? This kind of action must be punished since, according to the Laws of the Sea and the Pirate Codex guarded by Captain Teague my supposed sire, any rum located in the area of Captain Jack Sparrow's peripheral vision is rightful his!"

"Eh?" asked the tipsy sailor, an expression of complete confusion on his face.

"Botheration! Why do I tire myself talking to people who have only _potato purée_ inside their skulls? It sure ruins my abundant eloquence! Here, let me have this…" and in a movement as quick as lightning, Jack grabbed the cutlass from out of the sailor's belt.

The lookout man tried to protest between two hiccups, but the sharpened point of his weapon got pressed against his throat. Even drunk, the man had enough sense to understand his perilous situation could only worsen if he tried to resist.

"Now my good man, as a Captain I cannot overlook your inebriated state while on lookout duty and the fact that you haven't left any rum for me to drink: this is a terrible breach of discipline aboard a ship and it cannot go unpunished. Consider yourself lucky for your inattentiveness has allowed my reinforcements to hide and wait until I'd launch my signal… So instead of gutting you, the sentence is an immediate dip in the ocean's blue waters!"

"W-W-What?" asked the man, sodden by drink and Jack's speech.

"A bit of promptitude would be appreciated, now! So here you go!"

Jack jumped and kicked the sailor in the stomach: the man doubled over in pain, and the blow made him loose his footing. He fell down from the crow's nest to the sea, yelling all the way. His tumble was witnessed by his horrified shipmates gathered on the _Conqueror_'s main deck and orders were immediately shouted by Taylor, the quartermaster, to ready a longboat and fish out the fallen man.

"And now, for something completely different… the unbelievable Attack Signal set by the unsurpassed Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Jack swung his sword at the rope which was used to send up the colors. The rope was immediately cut and it rolled out of its pulley. The Jolly Roger started to fall down but, as it passed near the crow's nest, Jack reached out and deftly grabbed it. Then he started shouting, singing and dancing on the platform, holding the Jolly Roger with two hands and twirling it above his head while waving his arms in the direction of the camouflaged _Seref_.

"BILL! AMMAND! IT'S TIME, MATES! ATTACK THE _CONQUEROR_ RIGHT NOW! YOO-HOO! READY A LITTLE BOARDING PARTY, FELLOWS! IT'S PETER-OUT TIME!"

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

"BLIMEY! Jack has cut down the _Conqueror_'s Jolly Roger! He's waving it around like a sun-stroked semaphore! Captain Ammand, that is his signal for the attack!" said Bootstrap Bill Turner.

"Let me have a look," and the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea snatched his spyglass from Bill's hands.

One quick look at the brig confirmed Master Bootstrap's words: perched on the crow's nest, _Serçe_ was dancing on the platform while making a great number of grimaces and the enemy's flag turn round and round at the end of his extended arm. Ammand couldn't hear Jack's words but his facial expressions and the frenetic movements he was making towards the longboat carrying Red Hand Pete were expressive enough.

"_Inanilmaz_ (Incredible)!" said the Turkish corsair. "This is completely mad, but I think you are right, Master Bootstrap! Only _Serçe_ could imagine such a _sinyal_ (signal) to warn us! He has already captured the enemy's flag and we haven't started to board the brig yet, but that will be soon corrected! YUSUF! Get the men on rowing duty to work! WE ATTACK THE _CONQUEROR_ AT ONCE!"

* * *

_Aboard the _Conqueror_…_

Jack yelled in joy after seeing the flurry of activity on the Seref's upper deck: good old Bill, he had understood what the crazy dancing had been all about! Soon the _Seref_ will board the immobilized _Conqueror_ and its skeleton crew wouldn't be able to stop the Turks from jumping on the brig. And Red Hand Pete would arrive too late to prevent it from happening! Disoriented by their Captain's absence, the sailors would waste more time trying to organize a defense, allowing the superb Captain Jack Sparrow to go below deck without meeting any kind of obtrusive sailor who would ask embarrassing questions.

But since he was the all-time Pirate of Pirates, he couldn't leave the crow's nest without a trophy! Jack grabbed the Jolly Roger and tied it across his shoulders like a cape. There! That was a garment worthy of his fame! The fantastic Captain Jack Sparrow, wearing the colors of his soon-to-be defeated opponents! There will definitively be books written about his life – even thousands of images created and printed to perpetrate his undying glory. People from all over the world would know his name! His looks! His ship! His friends!

Jack grabbed at a hoisting rope and glided down to the upper deck, his flag-cape floating in the wind like a giant bat's wing. Bill and Ammand were coming. Red Hand Pete was done for. It was high time for Captain Jack Sparrow to free his little brother!

TBC…


	21. Free Will

**Disclaimer: **the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- To Candi: thank you very much! I am glad you think I've written appropriate lines for CJS, and you guessed right, Will is glowing because hope has returned for him…

- To Ana: don't fall from your chair! Here comes the new chapter :o)

- To Smithy: hi there! To answer your question, RHP doesn't care about feelings, he just wants gold and power... In fact, I doubt he ever felt anything in his life.

- In Latin, _"Veni, vidi, vici"_ mean _"I came, I saw, I conquered"_: those words were attributed to Julius Caesar after his victorious campaign against Pharmace, King of Bosphorus (47 B.C.).

- A little precision about Chapter 20: Red Hand Pete didn't take any of the Aztec gold, therefore he isn't cursed. In COTBP, the curse fell on people who had pocketed the coins out of thievery. However, Pete's greedy men **did** steal some of the gold so they **are** cursed, but their new condition will be revealed only under the moonlight! And I cannot reveal why Jack had made such a complex plan for now… ;-)

* * *

**Chapter 21: Free**** Will**

_Aboard the _Conqueror_…_

Jack made a vertiginous descent with his flag-cape flowing in the wind, and for all his wild-thinking he managed to land safely on the upper deck. Ammand and Bill would come soon to board the _Conqueror_, but unfortunately Red Hand Pete had good chances to arrive even sooner on his ship and express a lot of dissatisfaction about his trip on _Isla de Muerta_… For Jack's plan to succeed, he had to go down the orlop deck at once and free Will while the _Conqueror_'s sailors were busy preparing for the galley's upcoming boarding. Bill and Ammand's corsairs would attack the brig in no time and Jack had to prevent Red Hand Pete to use his hostage's life to save his sorry skin.

But as soon as he stepped on the planks with the lookout man's sword in his hand, Taylor's voice rang out:

"Silver!"

Jack rolled his eyes heavenwards, whispering an exasperated _"Bugger!" _between his teeth once again, and then he turned around with a lazy and insolent attitude to ask: "Yes? I am Captain Jack Sparrow, at your disservice!"

"S-Sparrow? What kinda name is d-d-dat? What inna world are ya doin' with da J-J-J-Jolly Roger? What is g-goin' on?" asked the quartermaster, his breath reeking from alcohol and looking bug-eyed at the slender man who had jumped from the crow's nest, wrapped in their colors. Apparently, the man thought he was having a bad case of _delirium_ _tremens_!

"Oh, good grief! People employed on this brig really have a common tendency to ask stupid questions when they're drunk. I'm starting to have serious doubts about your leadership qualities, Mister Taylor: what kind of a quartermaster are you? Why would you worry about a black rag - which has received the great honor to be worn by the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow, by the way - while a Turkish galley is appearing at astern with the evident intention to attack the ship temporarily placed under your responsibility? In this kind of perilous situation, a wise quartermaster would ask for his immediate superior… unless the said superior is too far away, of course! So it only leaves you, Mister Taylor, the possibility to call out for your dear Captain and ask him for orders… a fat lot of good it would do you, though, since you're already doomed to feed the fishes!"

Taylor's face turned purple and he clumsily got his flintlock pistol out of his weapons' belt, but Jack was quicker: one swift kick and his foot slammed against Taylor's wrist; the weapon flew through the air in a graceful ellipse before landing right into Jack's hand. Just like for the lookout man, Taylor found himself staring at the business end of his own pistol in a blink of an eye!

"Now, you inebriated eunuch, go ahead and try to organize a hopeless resistance against the _Seref_'s imminent assault, and don't bother me any more with your imbecilic interrogations. Savvy?"

Thinking he was dealing with a complete madman, Taylor just nodded before fleeing on the upper deck as fast as he could! One look at the horizon made his face change its color from red to white: a galley, coming from one of the island's many promontories, was indeed sailing right in the direction of the _Conqueror_'s aft. The brig was still immobilized on the reef and the repairs weren't finished! Whatever the galley came for, wherever the men onboard were outlaws or governments' representatives, it wouldn't be good for Red Hand Pete's men… and their Captain was in a longboat, too far away to give his instructions!

The quartermaster panicked and started yelling contradictory orders, leaving his shipmates in a state of absolute confusion: "Clear t-t-the decks for actions! Raise the s-s-sails! Everyone to the cap'stan! Raise t-the anchor! Unfurl the mainsail! S-S-Secure the sails! Brail u-up! The outer jib! A-Abandon ship! The f-f-f-fore staysail! Full s-speed!"

"But Mister Taylor!" said one man, "We cannot move; we've run aground!"

"What?!" exclaimed the quartermaster, acting as if he hadn't been aware of the _Conqueror_'s accident early in the morning, and some sailors looked at each other, silently wondering about the man's state of mind.

While the crew aboard was getting slightly puzzled trying to decipher Taylor's instructions, Jack silently headed for the stairs below the deck, making a big effort to not burst out laughing: he really had a natural-born talent to spread confusion amongst Red Hand Pete's drunken idiots! But somehow, it was logical: only a man who happened to be both an idiot and a disciple of Bacchus would willingly accept to serve under that brig's mast!

As on cue, Roberts the superstitious sailor sprang out from the cooking galley to yell accusingly at "John Silver":

"I knew you'd bring us bad luck! I knew it!"

"Didn't your mother tell you that it is very rude to point to someone with your index finger?" asked Jack nonchalantly, before disappearing below deck through its trap door.

He was ready for action: he had a sword, a pistol, a hatchet and his treasure-bag. All he needed to find was Will… and a flagon full of rum, if possible!

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

Unlike the _Conqueror_'s seamen, the Turkish corsairs had been ready to fight for hours. Their weapons were clean, their swords were razor-like, the guns were just waiting to be fired and each man knew his post – including the six exiled by Barbossa. Marty the vertically-challenged pirate was holding a shotgun that was almost twice his size; Cotton had a cutlass in his hand, and his parrot had prudently decided to perch itself out of firing range, on one of the mainmast's yardarms. Pintel and Ragetti had been put in charge of one cannon, and they had stopped arguing for about an hour. Even Wang Tao, the Chinese spy/executioner, was standing on the upper deck, looking completely cool and collected; his bald head was shining under the sun like a ball of polished ivory. Only Murtogg and Mulroy had gone out of sight with the orders to "help the surgeon", since their presence was more a hindrance than a help in combat.

Ammand looked proudly at his crewmembers: their resolution was fierce and there were no traces of fear in their eyes. The men on rowing duty were breaking their backs on the oars, giving the _Seref_ a good speed which was increasing with a clocklike regularity. Today, he would avenge his cousin's death and the wounds he has sustained in Istanbul after Red Hand Pete's treachery, and no one would ever try to betray Ammand the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea again! Eduardo Villanueva would have nightmares after he'd learn about his rival's victory in the Caribbean Sea!

Ammand looked at the granite-faced tall man standing at the prow. Bootstrap Bill, armed to the teeth, was staring at the _Conqueror_ while gripping at the galley's rail with such force the wood was in danger of splitting up. At least, they were attacking the brig which had haunted Bill's dreams for a week! Finally, he would be able to jump aboard it and retrieve his son! Bill silently swore to leave the _Conqueror_ only with Will in his arms and his sword blackened to the hilt with Red Hand Pete's blood, or die in the attempt. He would never leave those waters without his child! His determination was making his features look quite grim, but the elder Turner couldn't possibly care less about it.

He suddenly felt aware of Ammand's presence near him and the Turk's golden-brown eyes locked themselves in Bill's blue gaze.

"For your _oğul_ (son) and my _yeğen_ (cousin), Master Bootstrap," said Ammand.

Bill didn't need translation to understand the words spoken in Turkish. But the tension he was feeling was too intense for him to unclench his jaw. He simply nodded, hoping it would be enough to express his gratitude towards the Pirate Lord, and Ammand merely smiled. Then the _Seref_'s Captain spotted something on the water, and a ferocious predator's grin appeared on his lips.

"Master Bootstrap, it seems Red Hand Pete has obligingly placed himself at our shooting range. What says ye we use that longboat carrying our worst enemy as target practice for our guns?"

Bill Turner nodded again, and Ammand yelled:

"YUSUF! Longboat to starboard! _ATEŞ!_ (FIRE)!"

* * *

_In__side the _Conqueror_…_

Jack had managed to reach the brig's bowels, without bothering to grab a lantern. He counted on his hawk-eyes to warn him about obstacles or ambushed adversaries, but this part of his plan had worked to the perfection: the _Conqueror_'s sailors, overly concerned by the sudden apparition of the _Seref_, were too busy trying to load the ship's cannons in the gun decks to bother glancing at "John Silver" worming his way downstairs; besides, the black Jolly Roger was making an efficient cloak for discretion. Consequently, the trip had been easy – apart from bumping once or twice against discarded items: what an unkempt vessel! The commander in Jack was revolted by such sloppiness: when he was leading the _Black Pearl_, things were shipshape... well, almost!

Jack had also taken the opportunity to quickly check on every bottle lying around on the floors, but it had turned out to be a disappointment: not a drop of rum had been left inside! Obviously, the shipmates had taken advantage of their Captain's absence to organize a little party onboard, which would explain why the man on lookout duty and Taylor had been so wasted. Red Hand Pete, too focused on finding Will's heart, had completely neglected order and discipline aboard his ship. Bad tactical error from a would-be future Emperor of the Oceans!

Jack quickly climbed down the narrow stairs, taking great care to not twist his ankles in the steps by accident, and he finally reached the orlop deck. The light was very dim in there so he had to stop for an instant to adjust his vision; but then Captain Jack Sparrow's eyes widened at the sight greeting him: Will Turner was feebly struggling against his bounds and his upper body was… glowing?

"_That's impossible! I'm seeing things from not drinking enough rum!"_ thought Jack, but the recognizable sounds of men preparing for combat upstairs didn't allow him to ponder further about his eyes or his friend's ability to shine. Raising the pistol, he aimed at the chain tied to the beam and fired: metallic links were dismantled under the ball's impact and the young Turner let out a low groan after his arms hit the soil filling the crate, finally released from the forced upright position they had been submitted to for days.

The shot made Shiao Long jump inside his cage, and he looked incredulously as "John Silver", a smoking pistol in hand and a black-and-white cape tied to his shoulders, jumped on the smaller crate the Chinese had used as stepping-stone while torturing Turner. The man's face wasn't pallid anymore and he was calling out for the prisoner. What was going on?

"WILLIAM! Will, it's me!" said Jack, patting his friend's face. "Come on, whelp, have a reaction, will ya? It is I, the great Captain Jack Sparrow! I know you're in here, talk to me!"

Only silence answered him: for all the determination inherited from his father, Will had been plunged in a world of hurt for too long and the recent freeing of his arms had sent shooting pains through his torso, making him struggle for air. He coughed weakly, his eyes rolling wildly under his closed lids. The light radiating from his body flickered dangerously, like the flame of a candle in danger of being snuffed by stormy winds. Jack quickly understood Turner had to be freed from the crate at once, otherwise he would suffocate. Climbing down the box, the _Black Pearl_'s former Captain took out the hatchet from his belt and swung it at the lumber pieces constructing Red Hand Pete's torture device.

**SMASH.**

**SMASH.**

**SMASH.**

The merciless tool shattered the wood planks nailed at the top edge of the container, and soil flowed on the orlop deck's dirty floor. Will's earlier effort of digging beneath the earth with his feet hadn't been in vain: it had loosened the compact mass, allowing it to fall out of the crate with the easiness of an hourglass' sand transferring from one transparent bulb to another. Jack also noted the soil had been turned over since his last visit, and it didn't take long for his powerful brains to understand the young Turner had somehow tried to wriggle his way out of the soil, thus facilitating his upcoming release; and all this in spite of his immense sufferings!

"_The kid has a will of iron… He's definitively worthy to be my adopted sibling,"_ thought Captain Jack Sparrow.

The axe soon broke many planks to create an opening wide enough to let large amounts of soil pouring from the crate, freeing the captive's waist; Jack climbed again on the smaller box, grabbed the wounded man under the arms and jerked him hard. Will was pulled out from his prison in an explosion of dirt, but the momentum made Jack loose his footing and sent both men crashing down. Jack hit the wooden floor hard on his back, his spinal cord protesting against the rough treatment. Will landed on his stomach and he gasped in pain. But Captain Jack Sparrow had taken worst falls in his life – like when he had tumbled off the _Black Pearl_'s helm while taunting Davy Jones; he shook his head like a wet dog, jumped back on his feet and then he gathered Will in his arms to take him away from the soil which kept on flowing abundantly from the crate. After they had reached a safe distance from the hurtful element, Jack gently lowered the young Turner on the floor.

"_Oh God, the poor kid__,"_ thought Jack, revolted and horrified at the sight of the naked, tortured body displayed under the meager light of the unique lantern. Will looked even worse than the first time Jack had seen him shackled and half-buried in the crate. His face, arms and torso were just a bloodied mess, saturated with whiplashes, burns and open wounds; his abdomen and legs were maculated with dirt and covered with bruises; it was obvious he had lost a lot of weight and he probably had nothing to drink for days. His forehead was hot to the touch and some of the cuts had started festering. Only his immortal status could explain the fact he was still breathing.

Jack glanced around and his dark eyes flashed in anger after he noticed a pile of clothes, carelessly tossed in a corner. No doubts they belonged to William and Red Hand Pete had confiscated them in a diabolical way to make sure his prisoner would suffer greatly from the direct contact of soil on his bare skin.

"Will? Come on, kiddo, talk to me," pleaded Jack, kneeling beside the injured man. "Please, whelp, wake up! I haven't made such a prodigious plan to rescue you if you're not awake to witness it. I don't think I am erring too much if I presume you want out of this ship, and by coincidence I'd like to do the same. So I'd like to propose an association to unite our forces and act like the proverbial rats fleeing the sinking vessel. Do you agree? Fine! Since we have an accord, please open your eyes and say: _"Let's go"_! I've brought some friends and they are outside, waiting for us and getting ready to blow the _Conqueror_ to pieces. Now that's the kind of show which is better watched from a good distance for the preservation of our invaluable persons, if you get my meaning. So how about you wake up and we get out of this stinking place?"

But Will couldn't answer, too hurt and too exhausted to realize he had just been freed from the crate. His lungs were working again but the pain felt in his arms was unbearable, making him loose consciousness at times. His vision was blurry and his ears couldn't comprehend the words spoken to him. Realizing Will needed a few minutes to recover his senses, Jack left his side for a minute and rushed to the corner to pick up the discarded clothes.

But he was in for a bad surprise when he took the garments: they had been shredded, torn beyond repair. Red Hand Pete's work, probably, since he had wanted the Dead Man's Chest key as much as the coffer and the blond-haired bastard had ripened the clothes in order to find it. The moron would never have guessed the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ had entrusted the famous key to his father's care! Only the deep green bandana had survived the lynching: it was the same one Jack had seen Will wearing it around his head after the maelstrom battle. He quickly pocketed the bandana; it would be useful in case he'd have to call for extra reinforcements. Then, he untied the Jolly Roger from his shoulders and used it to brush the dirt off Will's waist, legs and the sole of his feet.

Jack worked quickly; it was a matter of minutes before the _Seref_ and the _Conqueror_ would exchange heated arguments in the form of cannonballs. In fact, judging from the cannonade fired outside the hull, it seemed the attack had already begun. And there was still the risk of being caught on the act of freeing the prisoner! He cleaned the young man's lower body as best as he could under the circumstances, cursing the fact that no water was available in the orlop deck. But at least, William would suffer a bit less after some soil incrusted in his skin was brushed away. It would have to do before he'd be back aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ and receive proper medical care from Bootstrap Bill.

While hastily removing the dirt, Jack breathed a sigh of relief: apparently, Will had been spared the ignominy of rape. He already knew his intervention two days ago had prevented Shiao Long from "working" on Will's private parts. But Jack Sparrow had sailed many years on troubled waters; he was quite aware of the sexual abuses inflicted by pirates on their captives… and William Turner II happened to be young, beautiful and momentarily paralyzed, making him an easy prey for gutless scumbags. But that coward Red Hand Pete had wanted to make absolutely sure Will couldn't flee the _Conqueror_ and it had implied to never get him out of the crate – Long had learned about the imperativeness of that order the hard way!

Jack stood up to shake the Jolly Roger like a sheet, and the accumulated particles of dirt fell easily on the orlop deck's floor. Then he wrapped the flag around Will's body, securing it around the waist by tying long scraps of leather which used to be the young man's belt. Jack would have preferred to use a cleaner cloth, but there wasn't one on sight and he couldn't loose a second. The Jolly Roger would preserve Will's modesty while they'd flee the brig to hop aboard the _Seref_. Captain Sparrow's little brother just couldn't be rescued while wearing only his birthday suit!

Will remained inert during Jack's ministrations; his eyes were still closed, and the scruffiest pirate of the Caribbean was getting very worried: if his friend was too weak to stand up, Jack wouldn't have any other choices than to carry him all the way up to the _Conqueror_'s main deck, and it'd make their escape go slower. Jack wasn't a man gifted with oversized muscles and Will's dead weight would be troublesome to deal with while climbing up abrupt stairs or running through narrow corridors. For Captain Jack Sparrow's dashing rescue plan to work Captain Turner had to be on his feet… but it looked like he had reached his limits.

Suddenly, a tidal wave of sound made the brig shake violently from the keel to the mainmast's top: the _Seref_'s guns had spoken. The attack had definitively begun.

* * *

_Outside the _Conqueror_…_

Red Hand Pete thought he had gone mad: one minute he was in one of the _Conqueror_'s longboat, rowing hard towards his ship to murder that double-crosser of a Captain Jack Sparrow, and the next minute he was in the ocean's waters, swimming for his life!

Too focused on the subject of his wrath, who had dared to mislead him on a wild-goose chase before fleeing _Isla de Muerta_ on a wind-powered sliding contraption, Red Hand Pete had completely forgotten his surroundings. He had neither bothered listening to his men's complains about breaking their backs on the oars, nor to the cries of alarm from the shipmates aboard the brig. The only thing that had mattered for him was getting his revenge against Sparrow, and it had completely blinded him. Then, finally realizing that danger was near, Red Hand Pete had turned around… just in time to see a ship firing straight at them!

There had been an explosion of water and wood planks as the cannonball had hit directly the longboat, and it had sunk instantly. Three men had been killed and the survivors – amongst them Jefferson, Burke and Maxwell – were swimming back to _Isla de Muerta_, which was closer and safer, while yelling their heads off about sharks and how the Aztec gold coins in their pockets were weighting them down. The _Conqueror_'s commander noted that none of them had the idea to check on their Captain, too busy to save their worthless lives; Maxwell, the sailor who had pretended being unable to swim, was the first one to reach the island's beach. Bunch of traitors!

Red Hand Pete had barely the time to plunge into the water before the cannonball hit the longboat, and this diving had saved his life. He had resurfaced through the boat's debris to take a look at their aggressor; his face paled considerably when he realized it was a Turkish three-mast galley with a dark gray-colored hull with violet shades…. And he recognized the tall silhouette of a man standing at the prow, an embroidered cloak flowing in the wind.

_By all the demons of Hell! Ammand the Corsair! The _Seref_ was attacking them!_

Red Hand Pete wasted no time trying to understand how his long-time enemy had managed to find him in the Caribbean, miles and miles away from the Black Sea. The connection between Ammand and that cunning devil Sparrow was clear enough: the two men had conspired against him! The Turk certainly wanted to settle accounts about that silly business in Istanbul; as for Sparrow, he probably just wanted to rob him.

Well, Red Hand Pete wasn't the kind of man to surrender to his enemies! While his men fought to the death defending the _Conqueror_, their Captain would discreetly swim until he'd reach the brig's stern. Then he'd climb the sculptures decorating it – unknowingly taking the same way Jack used to spy on the brig – break one of the windows to discreetly slip inside the Great Cabin. All this to gather his belongings and some stashed money, and then Red Hand Pete would abandon his ship. The smallest dinghy was tied in tow, just below the Great Cabin, and it would be easy to cut its rope and disappear below the horizon. His flight would be unnoticed and the sailors would simply think their Captain had drowned after the longboat had been hit.

His decision made, Red Hand Pete dove again in the safety of the salty water's depths and headed for his ship's stern. Even underwater, he could hear the sounds of the _Conqueror'_s guns firing back at their opponent.

"_Good, men. Very good. Keep on fighting for your Captain __who needs to grab his travelling money before getting out of here…"_ thought the unconcerned commander.

* * *

The cannonade's sound was getting stronger outside the hull; Ammand and Bill were very close to board the _Conqueror_. But it could also mean Red Hand Pete had managed to climb back aboard his ship and organize a defense better than the bumbling Taylor. Things were definitively heating up and they **had** to get out of the orlop deck!

Jack was cradling Will in his arms, mindful of the injuries on his upper body. Gently rocking the semi-conscious young man, he said:

"Come on, whelp, talk to me. It unnerves me to see you so lifeless, savvy? Please, Will? I know you've been hurt; and you are probably still hurting a lot. You've cried a lot in the darkness of this deck, haven't you? Red Hand Pete will pay for all the torment he gave you. He doesn't know it yet, but he's a dead man. Dead and Buried Pete, that's going to be his new nickname pretty soon. Right now, I want you to wake up. And don't waste your breath by saying nonsense, in the lines of: _"Leave me here… Let me die in peace"_! You cannot die, Will, and I won't allow you to die. This isn't your hour. In fact, I'll never allow you to die. That's a direct order from Captain Jack Sparrow and you'd better follow it! Also, I happen to know a very determined old man who is probably gutting out every sailor crossing his path to find you. Not to mention an equally determined young woman, who would kick my posterior all the way from here to Cape Horn if she ever learns I've failed freeing you. William?"

Jack added with a lower voice, "I need you, William; I need your loyalty in my life. Captain Jack Sparrow is lost without his sidekick; there, I've said it! Happy, now? You're my favorite Turner, but if you tell anyone I've said so, I'll deny it. You're the only one who has ever convinced me that real friendship existed in this world. I'll never forget the day you've saved me from the gallows: you shielded me from the bayonets pointed at us while making a stand against Norrington! You could have been hanged on the spot for aiding a pirate, and yet you've never hesitated. No one, not even Bootstrap Bill, would have taken such risks for me. I've considered you my kid brother since that day, even if I haven't been a good big brother to you afterwards – blame it on Davy Jones, the only creature in the world who has given me the creeps. For now, let's concentrate on the immediate imperatives, meaning leaving this ship. Come on, Will, wake up for Bill, for Lizzie… and for me, huh?"

Will suddenly gasped, and then his eyes snapped open. A hacking cough shook his body all over but, unbelievably, the pain which had been relentlessly crushing his legs for days had somehow decreased. He remembered something or someone grabbing him before being pulled, but the movement had hurt so much he had wrongly thought it another torture from Shiao Long, before darkness had threatened to overwhelm him again.

Will realized he was lying down on a hard, soil-free surface and a dark sheet had been tied around his waist in an effort to clothe him. He was out of the crate, but by what miracle? He felt an arm cushioning his neck, a hand stroking his matted hair, and a voice said:

"That's it, whelp! You've done it! You're a tough one, eh? Resilience, it runs in our family. I'd offer you some rum, but on this nutshell it is hard to find some. It's going to be a pleasure sending this oceanic detritus down to the Locker, for sure! In the meantime, who about you and me getting out of here and taking part to the rumble?"

The words sounded familiar, the voice as well, and that strong smell of rum… Will slowly moved his head and forced his eyes to focus; he saw a man's face hovering above him. In spite of the shorter hair and goatee, the lack of kohl and the absence of baubles hanging from braids, the young Turner recognized the luminous eyes and the sarcastic smile of Captain Jack Sparrow.

"J-J-Jack?" asked Will in a whisper.

"Aye, kid, it's me. You've made me run quite a lot, ya know? Not to mention making my brains work night and day! You'll buy me a rum distillery in Tortuga and it'll settle the debts between us. And by the way, where did you get that glowing trick?"

"J-Jack?" said Will again, rising a trembling hand to brush his friend's face. The _Black Pearl_'s former Captain noticed with horror that most of Will's nails had been torn off his fingers. "Y-you're… h-here?"

"You bet I am!" said Jack proudly, hiding his amazement about the pale light radiating from Will. "Captain Jack Sparrow is always where people expect him the last! That is part of my irresistible charm. I appear out of nowhere to pounce on my enemies like the hawk on the helpless mouse and to spook out my acquaintances just for fun – too bad it never worked on Scarlet and Giselle, it would have spared me from receiving a few undeserved slaps! Anyway, how about you getting on your feet, baby bro, and we scram out of here?"

"Jack… I k-knew you'd… c-c-come…"

The eccentric pirate felt his throat tightening at those words: oh, the depths of the kid's trust in him! What had he ever done in his life to deserve such indefectible loyalty from William Turner Junior? And what would be the consequences for his reputation; would people remember his glamorous legend only as the Trustworthy Captain Jack Sparrow? Perish the thought…

"Aye, _"Veni, vidi, vici"_ like Julius Caesar used to say, but to _"Vici"_ completely we have to move. Your father is terribly worried about you, and I feel I have outstayed Red Hand Pete's welcome, savvy?"

Tears gathered in Will's chocolate-brown eyes, and Jack tightened his hold on his friend.

"Will? Kiddo, what is it?"

"M-My f-f-father… killed… _D-D-Dutchman_'s g-gone…"

Astonished, Jack looked at the wounded young man with rounded eyes: why on Earth would William say such a thing? And then, he remembered Bootstrap Bill telling him in Tortuga about the attack on the _Flying Dutchman_ by the fake _Benevolent_ after Will's kidnapping. Intoxicated by his success, Red Hand Pete had neglected to sink the Soul Vessel: another fatal mistake from that overconfident oddball, but he certainly hadn't missed an occasion to boast about the _Dutchman_'s apparent destruction!

Another volley thundered, and the sound was much violent than the first ones.

"Listen, William. I'll explain it to you later, but I wanna tell you this right now: your father's alive. He's attacking the _Conqueror_ as we speak, along with an associate of mine. I have sworn to Bill that I'd bring you back to him, so don't make me a bigger liar than I already am, savvy?"

The firing sounds muffled Jack's declaration, but the pirate couldn't wait for the young man to acknowledge his words. Yells and screams could be heard from the orlop deck, meaning Ammand's boarding was imminent. Jack didn't want to hang around to see how it would end!

"All right, now you get on your feet, whelp. One, two, three, heave oh!"

He stood up and hauled the wounded man on his feet: Will cried out in pain, and if not for Jack's help he would have fallen right back on the floor. Jack quickly draped Will's right arm across his shoulders, before wrapping his own arm around the young man's waist. Then he marched onward, supporting the dead weight of William Turner while trying to ignore his moans and grunts.

"I'm sorry, William, but we cannot remain here. You're hurting, I know, and I'm sorry about that but we can't escape one step at a time – more like showing a clean pair of heels, savvy? But I know you'll survive, you can do anything since you have benefited from my stupendous teachings. So let's show to this bunch of inarticulate scallywags what real pirates are made of! Today, you and I are the fantastic Pirates of the Caribbean!"

"A-Am n-n-not… p-pirate," said Will between gritted teeth, his face pressed against Jack's neck. His legs were shaking terribly from the efforts he made to try walking, but he somehow managed to stay on his feet.

"Oh yes, you are! You wear the Jolly Roger, you are the son of a pirate, the husband of a female Pirate King and the brother of the accomplished Captain Jack Sparrow; what other proofs do you need? It's quite an impressive pedigree for a humble blacksmith from Port Royal, when you think about it – especially about the part concerning me!"

"Bro… B-Brother…" said Will, and he managed to smile.

"Aye, kiddo: you **are** my little brother," confirmed Jack, and he was immensely prideful after Will's hand steal into his and gave him a small shake. Their fingers locked together like iron, sealing their friendship for all eternity.

But as they were passing nearby the cell, cruel laughter made the two men stop on their tracks: Shiao Long was watching them, gripping at the bars of his cells; his eyes were shining with malevolence and he had a nasty smile on his lips, showing the bloodied stumps of his teeth.

"What a touching picture you make!" hissed the Chinaman. "A lousy pirate pretends being intelligent enough to leave the board unnoticed, while helping the so-called Captain of the Soul Vessel!"

Will moaned loudly after he heard Long's words, remembering too well this hateful voice which had taunted him during the torture sessions. Jack squeezed tightly the hand of the traumatized young man, and then he asked disdainfully:

"You're talking to _**me**_, vomit voice? And who said you could address to the incredible Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"The incredible Captain Liar, yes, I've heard about you. The famous laughing stock of the whole piracy world! A vagrant with the personal hygiene of a pig, the courage of a mouse and the drunkenness of a baboon, inventing stories about exploits that had never existed in the first place! You silver-tongued rat, I knew you were nothing but a storyteller from the very first time I saw you, unlike that credulous Red Hand Pete who is probably calling himself the Emperor of Idiots. I don't know what enraged Sao Feng more about you: the trick you've played on him, or the fact he had been had by such a lousy pirate bearing a ridiculous bird's name."

"I won't stoop so low as to talk to you, Squeaky Looser. But speaking of Sao Feng, you might be interested in learning I've been acquainted with his delicious sister during my stay in Singapore, some years ago. After a few romantic nights, she told me all of her family tree: from ancestors who died 2,000 years ago to our troubled times we live in, but she also said Sao Feng was the unique son of their shared parents… So my curiosity was aroused after someone revealing your lies about you being his brother. My, but you are blanching, prognathous pest!"

"Who… who told you about me?" stuttered Long, a feeling of dread running down his spine.

"Oh come on now, you wouldn't want to listen to the laughing stock of the piracy world, would you?" and Jack felt Will coughing against his chest, in a weak attempt to laugh.

"WHO TOLD YOU ABOUT ME?" screamed the Chinese, getting more and more panicky by the minute.

"The correct formulation is: _"Who told you about my abject person, exceptional Captain Jack Sparrow?"_. Tsk, tsk, what a terrible lack of manners! No wonder your family disowned you, according to one of your relatives I had the pleasure to meet and who gave me interesting information about you… A pleasant fellow with a remarkable talent for acrobatics, named Wang Tao. Ah, I can see you haven't forgotten your cousin! He's currently attacking the _Conqueror_ with my allies. He told us about a "message" he had to deliver from your clan's elders, and I doubt it's only a remonstrance about a disgusting slug pretending to be a sibling of Sao Feng. Just sit still and be happy, you'll be having a family reunion soon!"

With this last repartee, Jack tightened his hold on his friend and the two men headed for the orlop deck's stairs, leaving behind them a very confused and very frightened Shiao Long inside his cell. But as soon as they reached the first steps, Will's legs buckled under him and he nearly collapsed. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and the glow emanating from his body decreased to the point of being almost extinguished.

"William!" exclaimed Jack. "No, no! Now's not the time for weaknesses! We have to climb our way out of here! WILLIAM, FIGHT IT! You can do it, mate, I know you can! If you won't want to survive for me, do it for Bill and Lizzie! Please!"

But the younger Turner was completely boneless, vanquished by his wounds, the tortures and the starvation. Jack looked hopelessly around, desperately trying to find a mean to revive his brother or to facilitate the climbing of the stairs, but this time his mind was completely blank. Then he heard a creaking noise above his head and he instinctively pointed his unloaded pistol in the general direction of the ceiling.

The head of a sailor had appeared through the square-shaped opening cut in the lower gun deck's floor, at the top of the stairs and the intruder was looking right at them. He had a white beard and unkempt silver strands were escaping from a knitted cap. The wrinkles on his weathered face crinkled kindly as he smiled, and Jack wondered if the old man was out of his mind: how could he be happy at the sight of his Captain's guest rescuing their prisoner? Or maybe he somehow had guessed that Jack's pistol was empty! But the sea dog simply extended his hand towards Jack in a gesture expressing assistance and discretion.

"Can I 'elp ya saving 'im, Guv'nor?" asked Tony.

TBC…


	22. Sink the Conqueror!

**Disclaimer: **still the same.

**Author's notes:**

- To Ana: thank you for your eagle eyes! ;-)

- To Smithy: hi! Yes, there is a sequel brewing inside my mind… Should I write it or no? :o)

- To JC: I'd hate to be the cause of your sleeplessness… But I am very glad you like the story!

- The details about lice come from Wikipedia.

* * *

**Chapter 22**

**Sink the **_**Conqueror**_**!**

_In the _Conqueror_'s lower gun deck…_

The trek upstairs went relatively well, with the unexpected assistance of the old sailor named "Tony". With his help, it had become much easier to carry Will through the _Conqueror_'s stairs and to avoid unpleasant encounters while running around the below decks. Tony had explained he had been shanghaied into service and he had hated Red Hand Pete ever since; unfortunately, terror had prevented him to stand against the vile actions of his Captain. He had to endure the terrible display of prisoners being tortured to death, year after year, and he had turned a deaf ear at their supplications each time. But the kidnapping of Will had changed the old man's mind. He had been convinced Captain Turner of the dreadful _Flying Dutchman_ was an awful monster in disguise, preying on dying men to eat their souls raw like a demon from Hell, and he hadn't understood why Red Hand Pete had wanted to capture such a creature and keep it onboard. But Will's cries of pain, evident testimonies of his humanity, had decided Tony to do what he had always wanted to: free a prisoner and jump from that abhorred ship.

Jack had introduced himself as the fantastic Captain Sparrow, undefeated Pirate Lord of the Caribbean and escape artist, the Only One who had ever dug his way out of Davy Jones' Locker, and who had brought a few friends with him: judging from the explosions and screams outside, they had joined the party! Tony had been wise to change sides, added Jack, since the _Conqueror_ would be blown to smithereens within minutes as retaliation for the kidnapping and torture of Will Turner. No one could touch Captain Sparrow's brother and get away with it!

"Cap'tain Sparrow, aye, I've 'eard a lot about yu," said Tony as they were leaving the lower gun deck which reeked of gun powder. Will was supported by the two men who had draped the young man's arms around their shoulders; the young man was trying to walk but his legs were too weak and his feet were dragging on the wooden floor.

"You did?" asked Jack, his jet-black eyes getting bigger out of surprise. For all his permanent boasting, he had sometimes the feeling that his legend was less fascinating than he wanted it to be.

"Yeah, yu're quite ah celebrity in Tortuga. I loved the story of yu sackin' Nassau without firin' a single shot!"

Jack smiled like a wolf at the recollection of one of his most famous exploits; and the whole story was true, to boot!

"I knew somethin' was strange the first time I saw ya," said Tony while heading for the lower gun deck's stairs. "And I'm not talkin' only about the way ya look! But there was a light in yer eyes that betrayed yur brains; dat's why I thought it strange a smarty would accept ta work fer Red Hand Pete! When I saw yu had tied up yur arm before we 'it the reef, I knew yu 'ad anuther idea in mind."

"You haven't left your eyes at the bottom of a rum flagon! Speaking of which, any chance of…"

"None whatsoever, the guys 'ave drank the very few rum the Cap'tain 'ad left us, while ya were on dat island!"

"_Bunch of __narcissists, navel-obsessed pirates!"_ thought Jack in anger, forgetting for a moment the expression involving a pot, a kettle and the color black.

Will was biting on his lower lip until it drew blood: the jolting movements were keeping him awake, but the pain was increasing each time Tony and Jack carried him through trap doors or made abrupt stops whenever the risks of meeting someone were too great. And yet, Will had the courage to refrain from screaming in agony since he was aware it could raise the alarm. Jack was holding his friend's hand; he squeezed in a silent gesture of comfort, but he also knew the young man was too hurt to remain lucid for very long.

The two men carrying the wounded youngster had left the lower gun deck to reach the upper gun deck. Suddenly, a shadow passed nearby them; fearing an ambush, Jack reached for his weapons belt, but Tony stopped him by grabbing his wrist.

"No! Please! It's Andy!"

"Who?" asked Jack, but the answer came in the form of a boy. He was barely in his teens, with blond hair escaping from a bandage tied around his head. It looked like the lad had taken a nasty wound, and yet he was on his feet and his eyes were bright.

"Andy, the cabin boy," explained Tony. "Got shanghaied inta service, just a month ago. Tried ta protect 'im, but Red 'and Pete wounded 'im badly so Cap'tain Turner could 'ear his cryin' soul. I've been 'iding the boy in da lower gun deck ever since, in fear the Cap'tain would torture 'im ta force yur friend to talk."

"_So, that's how Red Hand Peter lured Will to climb aboard the _Conqueror_ in the first place. Will isn't the kind of man to ignore anguished cries – especially not from children! Red Hand Pete, you think you're very clever, don't you? I'll show you exactly __**who**__ is the man with all the brains in the Caribbean waters!"_ grumbled Jack inwardly.

Andy reached out to touch slightly Will's wounded face, and for a second Jack could have sworn the strange light coming from the young Turner had increased. But before he could worry about eventual targeting by enemies, the glow disappeared as suddenly as it came.

"Andy, we havta reach the stairs headin' for the main deck. Go see if the coast is clear," whispered Tony, and the boy scampered away without a word. Jack and Tony kept on walking and carrying Will while the firing guns were making the whole brig shake. One good thing about the racket, though: it was an admirable cover-up!

"Red 'and Pete would sure 'ang me on the spot if he learns abbat me 'elpin' yu free yur friend!" said Tony a bit nervously, like he was afraid his Captain would step out of the shadows any moment.

"Technically, there is a good percentage in your disfavor that he would, so why are you aiding us?" asked Jack as they kept on walking. "Although I appreciate your sympathy to my cause, I'd hate to think my escaping tendencies had provoked your endangerment, and ultimately your demise. And there is also Andy: you seem found of him, so he might be killed before your eyes as retaliation for your rebellious streak."

"I know, Cap'tain Sparrow, but I cannut let Red 'and Pete continue torturin' yur friend. There is somethin' about this lad," added Tony as he looked at Will, "dat makes ya want to better yurself. Seein' 'im so courageous under the knives of the Chinese gave me the nerve to disobey evil orders, even if it's dangerous."

"Aye, that kid brother of mine has a knack for bringing out our good sides, whether we like it or not!" said Jack under his breath, but Will heard those words perfectly. He tightened his hold on Jack's hand, making the show-off pirate smile.

"Besides, if ya succeed in killin' Red 'and Pete, then my troubles are over, eh?" said Tony with a wink.

"Good reasoning!" approved Jack, but a new salvo of cannonballs interrupted him and the rest of the trek was silent.

They finally reached the last flight of stairs heading for the main deck's hatchway. Andy was waiting for them, an expression of horror on his youthful face.

"Blimey! There are thousands of men fightin', Sir!" said the boy. "They have big curved swords and they yell strange words and they look ferocious!"

Jack couldn't help but laugh: good ol' stern-faced Ammand and his men had boarded the _Conqueror_! From the sound of it, they were giving a hard time to the brig's seamen who were obviously more talented in snickering while listening to the cries of tortured prisoners than to fight armed opponents. But Tony and Andy looked pretty worried at the idea of climbing upwards: the old sailor because he knew all about the dangers of a boarding, and the young boy had had a traumatic experience after his own ship had been attacked by Red Hand Pete.

Sensing that going on the main deck wouldn't do any good to Tony and Andy, Jack said:

"This is where we go our separate ways, gentlemen! If Tony is willing to help me carry my friend towards that last hatchway, Captain Turner and I are going to inflict some burning reminders to this bunch of ridiculous would-be pirates. As for you two, I'd advise you find a quiet exit and leave the _Conqueror_ at once with your skins intact and your lives preserved. Just before I had heroically jumped back on this floating bucket using a marvelous wind—powered invention of mine, I've noticed a dinghy tied on astern; it should be big enough for a man and a young boy to sail in it."

"Really, Cap'tain Sparrow? You're lettin' us go?"

"Ingratitude isn't one of my numerous vices, Tony. Besides, it doesn't take a genius like me to understand you both are victims of Red Hand Pete, just like my friend here. Now go, before things get too hot in here!"

Tony had a marvelous smile, the kind that hadn't spread on his lips for too many years, as freedom finally came for him after a lifetime of servitude and fear. Andy spontaneously threw his arms around Will's waist and gave him a light hug, careful about the injuries marking the young man's torso.

"I knew you weren't a monster. I knew the Captain told lies about you. When I saw you, I cried because my wound was hurtin'; not because I was afraid of you!"

Jack was flabbergasted: the boy-bait was trying to console Will? Were there any limits to the young Turner's inspirational courage? But before he could ponder furthermore, violent explosions shook the _Conqueror_ again, reminding the ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_ of their precarious situation. Jack shook Tony's hand, ruffled Andy's hair and then he climbed up the narrow stairway. After he reached the square-shaped entrance, his natural-born cautiousness made him poke his head outside with a very prudent way.

A terrible sight greeted him: the _Conqueror_'s main deck was a battlefield. The _Seref_ had been lead swiftly to the immobilized _Conqueror_, thanks to the speed provided by the rowers and its streamlined hull, but it had also remained safely away from the underwater reefs, unlike its unlucky opponent. This speedy attack hadn't let the _Conqueror_'s gunners enough time to fire, and the galley's ten cannons had opened the hostilities. With its firepower and its Jolly Roger floating in the wind – a black flag with a green lining, bearing the embroidered designs of four moon crescents surrounding two crossed scimitars – the _Seref_ was a frightful ship, worthy of the reputation of its leader, the famous Pirate Lord of the Black Sea.

Ammand's corsairs had swarmed aboard, using ropes and grapnels to jump on the brig, and they were now fighting with Red Hand Pete's men. It was a terrible melee of swords clashing with each other, men screaming and dying, pistols firing in all directions, all this in an awful cacophony announcing death and destruction. The foremast had fallen, snapped in two by a cannonball, and an avalanche of sails and ropes was entangled on the deck, increasing the confusion. Gunpowder smoke was creating a thick and malicious fog, making the combatants cough their lungs out. Blood, debris and cadavers scattered the floor, but it looked like the Barbary Corsairs were winning. Jack quickly spotted the tall silhouette of Bootstrap Bill at the prow, fighting side-by-side with Ammand who was showing his deadly parades with his sabre – the man was renowned for his defensive skills – but Red Hand Pete was nowhere to be seen. Where in the world was that coward?

Well, Jack couldn't bother worrying about him for the moment. He swung his legs off the stairs, kneeled on the upper deck's planks and then he held out his arms inside the hatchway. Tony and Andy understood at once, and helped Will to climb the steps leading for the slaughter and his freedom. Jack grabbed the young Turner as soon as he appeared and he pulled him out of the opening. Just before leaving, Jack saw Andy waving good-bye at him. He waved back, and then he screamed:

"BILL! OVER HERE!"

Below deck, at the bottom of the stairs, Andy saw Captain Sparrow wrapping one of Captain Turner's arms around his neck to force him to walk again, before the duo disappeared from his view. Then, Tony put his hand on the boy's shoulder, saying:

"Cap'tain Sparrow is right, sonny. We should go astern and flee in dat dinghy tied there. 'Tis our only chance to flee the _Conqueror_."

"But, Tony, how are we gonna make it?" asked Andy. "The only way astern is to go outside, and we'll get killed!"

"Worry not, sonny. I happen ta know a secret trapdoor in da upper gun deck's ceiling. It leads right to da Great Cabin. Me guess it's an exit devised by Red 'and Pete in case he needed ta leave his quarters inna 'urry. From da Great Cabin we will climb down the stern's statues an' undo the dinghy's rope."

* * *

_O__n the _Conqueror_'s main deck…_

Captain Jack Sparrow had been in a lot of perilous situations in his life, but none of them had beaten this one: trying to clear a path through a deck full of furious fighters during a naval engagement, while holding a sword in one hand and a wounded friend with another, it wasn't a piece of sea biscuit! And the gunfire was so loud it had prevented Bill to hear the call; so Jack had no other options than to cross the main deck to deliver his wounded friend to the care of the elder Turner. He had also spotted a couple of familiar silhouettes fighting on the deck: Marty, who was kicking a _Conqueror_'s sailor in the balls, and Cotton who had smashed an empty barrel on an adversary's head – the old man was still pretty vigorous. Good guys!

The first steps had been relatively easy: too concerned by saving their lives, Red Hand Pete's men didn't see the fake John Silver carrying their Captain's prisoner from out of the _Conqueror_'s bowels. In fact, Jack was even considering the possibility that he and Will would remain unnoticed, thanks to the wonderful and legendary luck of Captain Sparrow… just before a man jumped right in front of them holding a mean-looking carving knife! It was Smith, the cook, who hissed in the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean's face:

"YOU! You little traitor, you…"

"Oh, bugger off!" answered Jack, whacking Smith over the head with his sword's pommel. The man collapsed on the wooden floor, out like a light.

"Tsk! The effrontery of some people! That man should have minded his own business and concentrate his efforts on cleaning up his saucepans, judging from the disastrous quality of his cooking instead of bothering me, the incredible Captain Jack Sparrow! Don't you think so, my William?"

But the expected answer never came, because two sailors charged Jack and Will with their swords drawn up high and murder in their eyes. Sparrow felt fright seizing him – not for him, exceptionally, but for Turner. Considering the danger they were facing, Jack had to let go of Will to defend himself, but the resulting fall could only worsen the young man's injuries. But he also needed both his hands free to fight the two men attacking them; otherwise the kid could be wounded by their opponents' weapons! Sensing Jack's dilemma, the _Conqueror_'s shipmates grinned maliciously at each other before charging …

… But something flew through the air like a cannonball and the projectile hit both men hard in the chest. They fell on the main deck's planks, the wind knocked off them before they could even realize what had happened to them. Then the "projectile" materialized in the shape of a man who had jumped to Jack's rescue in a kung-fu acrobatic kick, felling his adversaries in a blink of an eye before bowing in front of the most famous pirate captain of the world!

"Much obliged, Mister Wang Tao!" said Jack.

"I am at your service and it is my pleasure, Honorable Lord Captain Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_. I have happened to see you helping Captain Turner, the Honorable Lord Captain of the Soul Vessel, and these two earthworms having the pedantry to pretend preventing you to do so. So I took it upon me to put an end to their insufferable arrogance. Should I also put an end to their pitiful lives?"

"Don't bother with those curmudgeons, Mister Wang Tao. I'd rather you go downstairs and deal with your cousin. He is locked up in a cage situated in the orlop deck, waiting for you. But be aware the descent is dangerous!"

"I am in your debt for this information, Honorable Lord Captain Sparrow, and I will obey to your order at once."

Wang Tao bowed once again in front of Jack; then he calmly walked on the battle-ravaged main deck, acting as if he didn't have a care or a worry in the world, just before jumping through the hatchway to disappear.

* * *

_In the _Conqueror_'s orlop deck…_

Shiao Long had been desperately racking his brains for the past few minutes, horrified by Jack's earlier words. His cousin Wang Tao had joined forces with the bird-named pirate in order to find him! "John Silver" schemes were clear at last: neutralizing Long, the only intelligent man aboard the brig, before misleading Red Hand Pete to a fake treasure island with elaborated tales about a magic compass; all this to retrieve Turner and destroy the _Conqueror_ with the help of his accomplices!

And Wang Tao, the slithering snake, had convinced Sparrow to allow him to participate in his plans. Not doubts his redoubtable cousin was coming to execute his family's judgment upon him, probably because of the rape and murder of his uncle Chan's wife. Long had never understood why his clan's elders had made such a fuss about that insignificant woman: so what if she had been newly wed to his uncle Chan? Long had just wanted to show her how a "real man" ploughed a field! But she had screamed, fought him with all her might so in the end, tired by her resistance, Long had strangled her before sullying her body.

But in the fight, she had slashed his face with a knife, carving a crude representation of the ideogram "murderer"; this time, he hadn't been able to shake off accusations or to justify the strange scar on his cheek. All of a sudden, the suspicions – which had been circling over his head for years like vultures preying on a decaying carcass – had fallen on him. It had been as if his relatives' ghosts had come out from their graves at the same time to point an accusatory finger at him! Uncle Chan, mad with grief, had asked for his head and it had been granted at once by those crackpot old fools of elders. Always the favoritism!

And Shiao Long, a man misunderstood by his peers, had to flee like a vulgar criminal. A desperate run which had lasted for years, to finally end with his engagement aboard the miserable _Conqueror_, hoping the many nautical miles between his precious person and China would diminish his family's wrath towards him. But even after years of hiding in this flea-infested brig commanded by a prideful idiot, he had to admit his relatives had a vivid recollection of his past actions.

His cousin was coming… Long had to get out of this cage!

But how?

What kind of leverage could a prisoner use, in order to convince one of the ship-slaves to fetch his tools and make the cell's door turn on its hinges?

Suddenly, an idea came to Long's mind… a plan involving a level and hinges.

Jack would have called it: _"Think like the whelp"_.

* * *

_Inside the _Conqueror'_s Great Cabin…_

In the relative safety of his cabin, Red Hand Pete worked frantically in packing his best clothes, a knife and a small pistol in a leather traveling bag. The slaughter was raging outside and he couldn't risk to be spotted picking up his belongings, neither by his men nor his enemies. For all they know, he had sunk along with the destroyed longboat while rowing back to his brig and Red Hand Pete had all the intentions of the world to keep the news about his apparent demise this way.

He was still stunned by the apparition of his long-time nemesis, Ammand the Corsair; and he had been a fool for believing a word that devious Sparrow had told him since their first meeting. Red Hand Pete had fallen for it hook, line and sinker with Sparrow's fairy tales! But how could he have imagined just for one minute slender, frail-looking "John Silver" was in fact working in association with one of his worst enemies? He had been tricked, for sure, but it wasn't his fault! All the blame should be put upon the unreliable Long: it had been his incapacity to make Turner talk that had forced Red Hand Pete to drop the anchor in Tortuga. Otherwise, he would never have met Sparrow!

But no matter how much he wanted his rightful revenge on Sparrow, Turner and Long, he couldn't delay his departure from his ship any longer. The situation called for discretion, not for anger. Red Hand Pete finished packing his bag – a man of his birth couldn't flee with only the clothes on his back – and he put it on his desk. Then, he rummaged feverishly through its drawers, throwing away papers and letters stashed inside. His fingers finally closed on an embroidered purse bearing his family's coat-of-arms, one of the very few possessions he had kept after his father had wrongfully kicked him out of their manor. Red Hand Pete had secretly kept this purse full of gold coins, embezzled from stolen booties, in case of capture and he'd had to bribe a Royal Navy officer. Well, he certainly needed it today! His men had never known their Captain played penny ante, of course; otherwise the rascals would have wanted their share of his emergency money!

Red Hand Pete slammed the drawer shut, threw the purse inside the leather bag and raised his eyes just to stare deep at a pistol's barrel aimed right at his face!

"The rat is fleein' the ship, as I can see!" said Tony, pointing the weapon he had borrowed from a dead shipmate right at the _Conqueror_'s commander.

Red Hand Pete felt his blood turn into ice in his veins: where did that old goat come from? After he had entered the Great Cabin using the windows, he had made sure its door was securely locked from the inside! Then a movement caught his eyes and he saw that skinny boy coming out from the open trap door he had installed in the cabin's floor, also in case of emergencies. He had forgotten to lock the trap door and Tony had somehow learned about its existence. Too absorbed by the urgency to pack his belongings and his money, Red Hand Pete hadn't noticed the escape hatchway had opened slowly to let in the old sailor.

"Tony! How dare you threat me with a weapon! I'll have your head for this!"

"Save yur yappin'! In case yu haven't noticed, yu're loosin' the ship. Yu're a goner, Red 'and Pete, so get those 'ands up in the air at once!" said Tony with a nasty movement of his pistol.

The _Conqueror_'s Captain couldn't do anything but obey: his own pistol was inside his traveling bag and he wouldn't have enough time to reach it. Andy headed for the desk – staying safely out of harm's reach from Red Hand Pete – and he grabbed the luggage.

"Give it back, you little…!" but Red Hand Pete's protests died within his throat after seeing Tony's menacing stare.

Andy quickly searched inside the leather bag, and he let out a small whistle of appreciation:

"Blimey! The Cap'tain thinks of everythin'! Nice clothes, weapons, and money for the trip!"

"Take dat bag and 'ead for de dinghy, sonny. I'll meet ya there inna moment!" said Tony, never leaving his eyes from his former commander. Andy struck his tongue out at Red Hand Pete just before shouldering the bag and fleeing through the open Great Cabin's window. He climbed down the statues with the agility of a monkey, never minding the fight raging on the main deck.

The blond-haired pirate captain could hardly believe what was happening: he had been robbed by the oldest and the youngest members of his crew! Those cads had dared to steal his belongings and his escape boat! He tried to talk but indignation was nearly strangling him, deforming his features into a grimace which made Tony laugh out loud:

"Not likin' to be on the loosin' side, are ya, Cap'tain? Sure yu prefer to wound an innocent boy and torture Cap'tain Turner, it's safer for yu! Disgustin' coward, gimme a reason why I shouldn't blow yer brains out!"

"You… You wouldn't dare!" stuttered Red Hand Pete at last. "I know you, Tony, you're not a murderer. You never participated to one of our boarding parties and you never accepted a share of the booty."

"Damn right I haven't! But I hated mesself for not 'elpin' the prisoners you've tortured with Puny Long fer years. And yet, the cries of Cap'tain Turner were the worst. So yu're gonna pay for this, and fer all the people who died because of ya. Get outta this cabin!"

Red Hand Pete's face blanched: surely Tony wouldn't mean for him to leave his quarters! There were men fighting just on the other side of his door, and he couldn't expose his person to such a danger! Every time the _Conqueror_ had attacked another ship or raided a coastal city, Red Hand Pete had managed to stay safely in the rear; Tony couldn't order him to go to the front lines!

"NO! No I won't!"

"Fine! Then it's ball-inna-belly time!" growled Tony with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, his pistol aiming at the hated captain's stomach. But the old sailor was bluffing: he knew all about Red Hand Pete's cowardice and there was little chance he'd willingly take a bullet rather than try to save his skin by jumping ship… which was just as well. Tony knew there were some men waiting impatiently for Red Hand Pete to appear to settle a few accounts with him.

With a heavy heart, the Conqueror's Captain unlocked the Great Cabin's door and stepped outside.

"Listen, Tony, maybe you and I could strike a deal…"

The old sailor slammed the door in his commander's face and swiftly turned the key inside its lock, dooming Red Hand Pete to face the fight on the upper deck. As on cue, a burly-shaped sailor named Morton – also known as _"the birdbrain"_ amongst his shipmates, since he knew nothing about anything – spotted his Captain standing stupidly outside the Great Cabin and grabbed his arm:

"Ah, Cap'tain! Thank gudness yu're here! We need yur help, the Turks are winnin'!"

"Let go of me, you imbecile! Let go! NO!" screamed Red Hand Pete, but to no avail: the small-brained sailor never heard his words because of the battle's uproar and Morton's iron grip on his arm gave him no other choice than being thrown back into the fight.

Inside the Great Cabin, Tony heard Morton and Red Hand Pete's desperate exclamations: it was hard for the old sailor to roll on the floor, laughing his head off! For the very first time, the _Conqueror_'s Captain would participate to the action at the risk of his life, instead of sacrificing other people's as he did for years.

But Tony couldn't stay inside the Great Cabin for too long, either: he had only one chance to flee the brig with Andy and he wouldn't compromise it by wasting time. He rushed to the window and peeked below: the cabin boy, seated on the dinghy's bench with Red Hand Pete's travelling bag secured to the short mast, signaled him to come. Tony swung his legs out of the window and hoped he'd be as light-footed as Andy when he'd be climbing down the walkway and the wooden statues of marine gods and goddesses decorating the stern, to reach the tiny boat.

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

Aydin, the quartermaster, was looking worryingly at the pair of strange-looking Occidentals who had been thrown out of the _Black Pearl_ to be "engaged" by his Captain as extra workers. Yusuf, the First Mate, had ordered those two should be employed as gunners, but Aydin had never seen such dim-witted pirates in his life. Even though he couldn't understand a word of English, the quartermaster didn't need a translator to figure out that "_Zayif_" (Skinny) and "_Kel_" (Baldy) were constantly arguing while reloading the gun and firing it, and Aydin was wondering how they could aim it without a minimum of concentration from their part!

"You're aiming too high!" yelled Pintel, nicknamed "_Kel_" aboard the _Seref_.

"You're aiming too low!" retorted Ragetti the "_Zayif_". "If it were not for me, we would never have hit that brig's foremast!"

"If it weren't for you? How do you like that? It is thanks to _**my**_ aim that we've managed to hit that mast!"

"You're an awful liar! We hit it because I corrected the line of sight! Otherwise the cannonball would have hit the hull instead of the mast!"

"A likely story! Everybody knows I am the best shot!"

"In your dreams! And you're aiming too low!"

"You're aiming too high, you blockhead!"

Aydin shook his head, renouncing to understand why his Captain had ever bothered to fish these two men out of the water… Probably to preserve the sharks from getting an indigestion after gnawing at such nervous flesh!

* * *

_On__ the _Conqueror'_s main deck…_

"BILL! WE'RE HERE!" yelled Jack Sparrow.

"B-B-Bill?" whispered Will.

The two men were still trying to reach the prow where Bill Turner and Ammand were fighting, but the melee was so inextricable it was almost impossible to move forward. Jack had to exchange a few strikes with his sword with some overzealous opponents, even clubbed one man over the head with the heavy pommel of his discharged gun, but he was still deeply handicapped with his friend leaning heavily on him. Jack wanted nothing more than reach Bootstrap Bill and give him back his son, so he could fight – or dodge fighting – more easily. One rapid glance at Will confirmed his fears: the kid would soon loose consciousness again, already spent by the long trek from the _Conqueror_'s bowels to its upper deck, and Jack wouldn't have the strength to carry the young man's dead weight on his own.

"BILL! OVER HERE!" shrieked Sparrow, not realizing his friend's confusion.

Earlier in the orlop deck, Will hadn't heard Jack's affirmation about Bootstrap Bill being alive and aboard the brig: his weakened state and the cannonade's blasting sounds had prevented him to hear those much-needed words of comfort. Will was still convinced his father was dead, killed after Red Hand Pete had opened fire on the _Flying Dutchman_; so why would Jack call out for a "_Bill_" again and again? This whole situation was getting too much for the youngster, who had been freed from a torture device just to be thrown into the confusion of a boarding. The acrid smoke was making his eyes water, blurring his vision and it was getting more and more difficult for him to breathe. The jolting movements were tearing his injuries apart and his arms were numb from the pain; if not for Jack's grip on him, Will would have fallen on the planks like a rag doll.

"OVER HERE, BILL! OVER HERE!!" yelled Captain Jack Sparrow; much to his relief, Bootstrap Bill turned about this time to see the former Captain of the _Black Pearl_ standing in the middle of the main deck with…

"Will," whispered the older man, an incredible light illuminating his blue eyes.

Ammand, who had just skewered an enemy, also turned on his heels to see Master Bootstrap staring at an incredible scene below: _Serçe_ was on the deck, clumsily sword-fighting a sailor while holding the limp body of a wounded young man clad only with a dark sheet wrapped around his waist. The Turkish Corsair didn't need to ponder about who the youngster was: a deafening roar let out by Master Bootstrap gave him all the confirmation he needed.

"WILL!!" thundered Bill Turner, his face a terrible mix of love, relief and anger at the sight of his son, held by Jack in the middle of danger. He jumped from the prow and charged with the violence of a hurricane at anyone standing on his way, slashing blindly through the melee of combatants.

Unfortunately, Jack wasn't faring very well: the seaman he was fighting with seemed determined to separate his marvelously-intelligent head from his shoulders, and he couldn't maintain his grip on Will any longer. The situation called for trickery and Jack kicked the _Conqueror_'s crewmember really hard in the shin, making the man step back, yelping in rage. Even though it wasn't enough to vanquish his adversary, it gave Jack a few seconds to set Will down on the wooden planks as gently as he could under the circumstances. Then he stood up with his sword on the ready, recognizing his opponent: it was the fat sailor who was constantly scratching at his head!

"Well, if it isn't the lice breeder!" snickered Jack. "Shouldn't you be downstairs, you unappetizing lump of grease, and look after the precious _Pediculus humanus capitis_ currently feasting on your head? _En garde!_"

"Silver! You disgusting traitor, what the Hell are you talking about?" asked the fat sailor, swinging his cutlass in a violent parade that Sparrow found it difficult to par: for all his overweight, the man was strong and agile! The blades clashed, banged against each other, throwing out sparks in every direction. The attacks were so fast Jack couldn't find enough time to call out for Bill Turner again, even though some extra help would be appreciated!

Will was moaning softly, lying prone on the bloodied deck.

"I am merely evoking the ectoparasites living on your head and skin, you eighteen-carat ignorant!" exclaimed Jack, once more using his fine-words tactic to weasel his way out of peril. "Can't you ever see you're suffering from a bad case of _Pediculosis_? The only cure for it would be a good bath, but I daresay you dislike this kind of liquid element and you haven't been acquainted to the use of a bar of soap. So you'd be wise to become familiar with water by immediately jumping ship, thus saving your life and drown your six-legged friends in the process, savvy?"

"Shut up and fight, you blabbermouth!" roared the fat sailor, swinging his sword once again.

"Talkative and brilliant, that's me," said the notorious Captain Sparrow but his tirade got cut short after the cutlass crashed down on Jack's sword, breaking its blade in two. His jet-black eyes opened wide at the sight of the much-reduced weapon he was holding in his hand, while his enemy had a nasty smile on his face, revealing a few dirty yellow teeth. For a horrible second, it made Jack remember his fight against Davy Jones atop the _Flying Dutchman_'s mast…

"Ahem… Parlay?" asked Jack with a little smile, but the fat sailor wouldn't hear any of it. He yelled an obscenity and charged at "Silver" with his cutlass high in the air…

… But the sound of a discharging pistol exploded nearby Jack, who felt a rush of hot air brushing his left arm before seeing the fat sailor screaming in pain, clutching at his bloodied shoulder. Jack turned around to investigate where did that miraculous shot come from, and his jaw nearly dropped on the floor: Will Turner, sprawled on the deck, had came back to life enough time to pick up a discarded pistol, hold it in his damaged hands and shot at the lice-infested man.

"My brave little brother!" exclaimed Jack; Will had a tiny smile before the pistol fell from his boneless fingers.

The fat sailor screamed again: Will's shot had broken his collarbone and any man in his stead would have given up the fight. But the man was well-known to his shipmates for his stubbornness, and he was determined to trade John Silver's head to his Captain for a huge pile of gold coins. A little wound wouldn't stop him from earning at last Red Hand Pete's consideration, even though he had been constantly criticized by his commander for his poor hygiene!

He charged at his prey again, but a sledgehammer fist smashed into the obstinate sailor's face, definitively ending his aggressiveness. The impact's violence sent him fly through the main deck, and he hit the ship's rail just before falling overboard. The lice-infested man fell directly from the brig into the ocean's waters, unwillingly following Jack's advice about how to get rid of hair parasites.

Sparrow breathed a loud sigh of relief: Bootstrap Bill had broken their fight with one Hell of a punch!

"_Remind me to __**never**__ be on Bill's bad side…"_ thought Jack before picking up another sword from a man who had just been felled by a stray bullet.

The light was fading for Will Turner: he had no strength left after he had fired the pistol to save Jack's life. Black circles were tangling up in front of his eyes and Will knew he wouldn't be able to remain conscious. He tried to call out for Jack, to tell him he was sorry about being weak and endangering the rescue, but he was only able to utter a feeble moan. But a force coming out of nowhere suddenly seized him, pulled him away and lifted him up in the air! Will was floating above the upper deck, held by a pair of strong arms supporting his back and his legs. Cradled in a powerful embrace, he heard a voice… a much-loved voice coming from the sky, saying:

"Will, my son. My Little One. It's Papa! I'm here, my love, I have you. Papa is here, I'll take care of you. Oh, my darling…"

Will surrendered to the darkness, but this time it didn't matter. He knew he had nothing to fear anymore since his father, his guardian angel, had come from the Heavens to save from Red Hand Pete.

TBC…


	23. Swords, revenge and cannonballs

**Disclaimer: **the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- To Ana: Please don't use violence, I'm typing as fast as I can! :oD And cliffhangers add a little spice to a story so I cannot resist using them.

- To Candi : Thanks for your eagle eyes! ;-)

- To Smithy: OK, I'll write the sequel! I just hope you'll like it as well.

- A big Thank you to all the readers who have added this story to their Favorite and Alert Lists!

* * *

**Chapter 23****: Swords, revenge and cannonballs**

_O__n the _Conqueror_'s main deck…_

"Will? WILL!" called out Bill, looking in alarm at his son loosing consciousness.

His father's heart got crushed into tiny bits at the sight of Will's state: his child's skin was pallid under the numerous gashes, wounds and burns marking his body; his arms and legs were terribly thin and he was burning with fever. In fact, he looked as if he had been tortured by merciless demons for months. During a horrible moment, Bootstrap Bill thought his William had died, finally vanquished by the ill treatments he had sustained from Red Hand Pete and his Chinese torturer, and his heart skipped a beat at the awful idea. Then, he called himself an idiot; Will couldn't die, and it wasn't due only to his immortal state as Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_: it was because his father would _**never**_ allow him to die, not as long as William Turner Senior could breathe.

But Will had sustained so many injuries, he desperately needed to get out of this brig to receive medical attention; otherwise, the pain and the fever could drive him to madness. Bootstrap wished he could rip the _Conqueror_'s apart – a part of him wanted to do so – but now that he had his son back, the former pirate didn't want to remain on this ship for another minute. He wouldn't let sorrow or anger delaying him to reach safety for the sake of his child. Let Ammand and the Barbary Corsairs blow the whole brig, for all he cared!

Holding his insensate son in his arms, Bill stood up and saw the ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_ looking at them with a thoughtful expression on his face. The elder Turner wrongly thought Sparrow was concerned about Will, but in fact Jack was envious of the evident beautiful relationship Bill and Will were sharing. He had never had caring parents and, in the piracy world, families were just a subject for mockeries or a pretext to get drunk. His own mother had died years ago and Captain Teague – his supposed father – had never been overly concerned by Jack's fate; in fact, no matter how many times Sparrow had been injured, thrown in jail, threatened with the gallows or passed out in a pigsty, Captain Teague had never bothered to lift a finger to help him. But to see Bootstrap Bill tenderly carrying Will like a sick child, in the middle of a boarding, where danger and explosions could end their lives in an instant… it was the perfect picture of fatherly love.

Jack jumped at Bill's side with his new sword in hand, the one he had "borrowed" from a crewmember; he sadly looked at his friend's wounded face:

"Go back to the _Seref_, Bill. Ammand and I will deal with matters here. Take him to the galley, I'll cover you."

The two men started walking towards the _Conqueror_'s rail, where the ropes used by the Turks for their boarding were lying entangled on the main deck's planks. Jack had taken the lead, occasionally bashing at the heads of unlucky sailors (_"Sorry, mates!"_) with his sword's pommel or his empty pistol; Bill Turner followed suit, cradling Will and taking great care, in spite of the tumult, the screams and the falling bodies, that nothing would accidentally bump into his son.

All of a sudden, a madman appeared in front of Jack. A tall, lanky pirate with blond hair and beard, and wild blue-green eyes; he was holding a sword in his hand and he had a desperate, furious face, the kind of expression that could be seen only in persons who had no hope left and nothing to loose.

Bill felt his throat tightening as if it were inside a hangman's noose: the fake Peterson, alias Red Hand Pete, was standing in their way!

Jack immediately raised his sword.

"How lucky we are! The stupidest pirate of the Caribbean – or the whole world, take your pick – has deigned to wish us a safe departure! We are humbled by your attention, Supreme Fool, but as you can see we are in a bit of a hurry so if you'd be amiable enough to move your vermin-infested carcass out of the way…"

"You… You dirty liar!" growled Red Hand Pete. "You lied to me! You are not a warlock, just a fraud who pretends to be a magician!"

"I am a magician with words, a warlock of tricks, a true artist of lies and Captain Jack Sparrow: all this in an oh-so-handsome package!"

"You lied to me! You stood there and deliberately lied to me! The Dead Man's Chest isn't in _Isla de Muerta_ and…" Red Hand Pete's mad eyes suddenly glanced behind Jack's shoulder and they went huge at the sight of Bootstrap Bill and the fragile cargo in his arms.

The _Conqueror_'s commander could hardly believe what he saw: his prisoner had been freed! Sparrow had gotten him out of his torture device! But why? Until a moment ago, Red Hand Pete was certain that Sparrow had leagued with Ammand the Corsair only for the Turk to get his revenge and the double-crosser his money. He had never imagined for a minute that Sparrow would bother with the martyred young man!

"**What are you doing with Turner?"**

"Gee, isn't it obvious?" said Jack with a sardonic laugh. "I think everyone possessing a right state of mind would have understood by now! But awareness comes always much slower to people who have guano manure inside their skulls!"

Red Hand Pete felt his legs becoming weak as his mind jumped to the wrong conclusion: Sparrow wanted the Dead Man's Chest! The silver-tongued man wanted immortality for his selfish goals; that's why he had lured him to the wrong direction, while his accomplices attacked the ship and snatched Turner!

A moment ago, locked up in the safety of the Great Cabin, Red Hand Pete had thought only about saving his own skin – even if it meant abandoning the brig and his men to the enemy. Ships could be replaced; new sailors could be recruited easily in the first waterhole posing as a tavern. As for Turner, Red Hand Pete had just thought he would sink with the _Conqueror_: still entrapped in the soil-filled crate and grievously wounded, the young man would have remained stuck on the seabed, buried alive under tons of submerged beams and planks. Unable to move out of the crate, unable to die, Turner wouldn't have any other choice than to wait for the return of Red Hand Pete who would have come back quickly to _Isla de Muerta_ in a new ship, with a new crew and a new torturer to make him talk.

Alas, Tony and Andy's confiscation of his dinghy had ruined his escape plan. That idiotic Morton had forced him to go on the upper deck to "give orders" – and Red Hand Pete had to blow the man's tiny brains out to regain his freedom. Only the sight of Sparrow fighting on the deck had stopped him to jump ship and swim to the safety of the island: he couldn't let the little traitor get away with it!

But never would he have thought Sparrow had planned to kidnap Turner!

"You want the Dead Man's Chest!" accused Red Hand Pete in a roar, his aquamarine eyes looking as if they'd pop out of their orbits. "You cannot have it! It's mine!"

"You're a thick-skulled one, aren't you?" replied Jack. "**I'M TAKING BACK MY FRIEND, THAT'S WHAT I AM DOING.** And if you don't like it, go jump in the lake!"

Red Hand Pete howled in fury and swung his weapon at Jack, who deftly swerved the blade; but his opponent was completely berserk, convinced that Sparrow also wanted the Dead Man's Chest. Red Hand Pete couldn't let the silver-tongued pirate taking away his unique option to become immortal! He had already lost his ship and his crew, thanks to his former guest's scheming, but he couldn't let him steal the prisoner!

"NO! NO!" yelled Red Hand Pete hysterically, punctuating every word with a blow of his sword. "TURNER IS MINE! THE DEAD MAN'S CHEST IS MINE! MINE! YOU CAN'T HAVE IT!"

"I don't want the Dead Man's Chest, you colossal twerp!" retorted Jack, by his reply fell on deaf ears and he was getting worried by the minute. Madness could decuple the strength of a lunatic and Jack's hands were getting numb from the repeated shock vibrations he was receiving from his aggressor, transmitted by his sword.

The bird-named Captain knew how to defend himself, but swords had never been his kind of weapons – he had always preferred his vast array of fine words! But this kind of duel didn't call for parlays or civilized conversations, just resistance against an opponent who was far stronger than him. Bootstrap Bill couldn't help Jack and Ammand was too far to intervene. Good grief, if nothing happened to rectify the situation, Jack and his associates were as good as hanged!

* * *

_I__n the _Conqueror_'s orlop deck…_

Wang Tao had a most disagreeable surprise after he had tranquilly reached the bottom of the _Conqueror_, in spite of the boarding and the screaming sailors running in every direction: there was indeed a cage in the badly-lit orlop deck, but it was empty.

The Chinese didn't believe for a second Lord Captain Sparrow had sent him to a wild goose's chase: aboard the _Seref_, it had been obvious the strange-looking pirate, the Turkish corsair and the tall First Mate were most determined to find Red Hand Pete and his acolyte after the subsequent capture of the Honorable Captain of the Soul Vessel, so Jack didn't have any reason to lie to him – especially not in the middle of a battle, where Wang Tao had been able to give a glimpse of his fighting skills.

But the cage supposedly holding the black sheep of his clan was empty, so what had happened?

A closer examination gave Wang Tao the needed answer: the door had been lifted from its hinges, using one of the deck's floor planks as an improvised crowbar, giving enough space for someone small and thin to slip outside. The spy/executioner had to acknowledge his cousin's resourcefulness: wasn't it amazing how rats could become extremely intelligent when they sent the presence of a predator?

The Chinaman looked around; the orlop deck was deserted. Knowing Shiao Long, he wouldn't have remained aboard a ship under attack. A thundering salvo of cannonballs suddenly erupted, and he felt a terrible shock followed by sinister gurgling sounds: the hull had been hit! Annoying!

And yet, it gave Wang Tao the direction to follow. Shiao Long would never stay aboard a sinking ship, too satisfied with his own importance to risk its integrity. And the audible sounds of water rushing inside the keel could only mean the lower decks were rapidly becoming a dead end. So for Long, the only way was up – right in the battlefield, but he probably hoped he could discreetly worm his way through the shambles and jump in one of the unused dinghies of the brig, while the seamen would be busy jumping at each other's throats.

Wang Tao calmly climbed up the stairs heading for the gun decks. If his cousin was still on the _Conqueror_, he would find him. In the meantime, he would just have to avoid unwanted actions from interfering sailors.

A groan followed by a moan raised his attention: one of the enemy's crewmembers had his leg broken by a pistol's ball and he had crawled through the floor to find a quiet place, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Wang Tao approached him and the sailor stiffened in fear, clutching a knife in his hand.

"Have no fear, unwise man who had wrongly chosen his employer," said Wang Tao. "I am looking for information, not for confrontation. Have you seen your leader's advisor coming out of the orlop deck?"

"Puny Long? Aye! Went dat way!" said the sailor bitterly, pointing to the stairs. "I asked ´im ta ´elp me, but ´e didn't even stop!"

"Why doesn't that surprise me? But as a reward for your cooperation, I shall let you live. May the goddess of luck smile upon you today!"

The Chinaman then calmly walked away, followed by the wounded man's imprecations. Little did the said man know his miserable life had just been spared by Wang Tao, the most skillful assassin of the Red Dragon Clan!

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

"You're aiming too high!" yelled Pintel.

"You're aiming too low!" vociferated Ragetti.

Aydin the quartermaster couldn't believe what he was seeing: _Zayif_ was repeatedly stomping on _Kel_'s toes with the gun cleaner's handle, while the bald guy was busy trying to push the other man's head inside the barrel of the cannon which had just been fired!

"_Dur_! (Stop it!)," exclaimed Aydin, but to no avail. Pintel and Ragetti's arguments were notorious for their duration and their incredible stupidity. In fact, it had exasperated Hector Barbossa to the point of throwing that pair of idiots out of the _Black Pearl_, simply because the mere sight of them made their Captain's blood boil!

"You're aiming too high!" said Pintel, jumping on one foot.

"You're aiming too low!" answered Ragetti, his face blackened with gun powder.

* * *

_On the _Conqueror_'s main deck…_

Jack blocked an attack from his opponent's sword, ducked the swishing blade aiming for his head, jumped right and left, but he was tiring. Red Hand Pete kept on swinging his sword, screaming at the top of his lungs that Turner was his, the chest was his, immortality was his birthright… and other absurdities that even Jack wouldn't have invented if he were compelled to entertain the world's dumbest audience. And yet, the _Conqueror_'s commander didn't seem eager to acknowledge his upcoming defeat; his bulging eyes were locked on Jack, silently promising Hell and all the rest of it, including a thorough evisceration.

"THE CHEST IS MINE! I OWN IT! MINE! ALL MINE! YOU CANNOT HAVE IT! MINE! IT IS MY PROPERTY!"

"Oh, yeah? And since when?" asked Jack with a touch of irony, hoping a little dialogue would distract Red Hand Pete from severing a few of his cervical vertebrae with a strike of his blade.

"I DESERVE IMMORTALITY SINCE THE DAY MY FATHER THREW ME OUT OF THE MANOR! That crackpot old fool, just because I had some fun with some brainless girls, he disinherited me! Gave all the money to my goody-goody brother while I'd be killed fighting for God and kingdom in the Navy! And then I had to turn to piracy to survive, risking my life every day on the ocean! But I'll show that pair of hypocrites who is the smart one in the family! I will have immortality and gain riches beyond a king's dreams, and they WILL beg at my feet for forgiveness!"

"So you actually want the Dead Man's Chest just to get even with your old man and your sibling? How pathetic! You sound like a spoiled child who has been sent to bed without any pudding!" snickered Jack.

"YOU DARE TO MOCK ME?"

"Well, it is sure hard for me to keep a straight face when I hear such insanities! Boy, you'll be the laughing stock of pirates after I'll tell them you've lost your ship while chasing a ridiculous dream, out of a grudge against your Pop!"

Red Hand Pete screamed and the swords clashed, but this time luck was on his side: Jack slipped on some blood splattered on the planks and his imbalance led to the violent impact of his attacker's sword pommel against the nape of his neck. An explosion of fireworks erupted in front of Jack Sparrow's eyes and he went down, out like a light.

"JACK!" screamed Bootstrap Bill, horrified.

But this heart's cry made Red Hand Pete forget about a finishing stroke, and he took his eyes off his fallen enemy to look at the tall man carrying the captive. Growling and salivating like a rabid dog, he pointed his sword at this new foe.

"GIVE ME TURNER! GIVE HIM TO ME! NOW! HE'S MINE! GIVE ME TURNER RIGHT NOW!" screamed Red Hand Pete, definitively sounding like a spoiled child.

"No," was the calm answer.

Strangely, that single word seemed to pierced through the fog of madness clouding the blond-haired pirate's mind. All of a sudden, his eyes cleared and he took a better look at Bootstrap, as if he had seen him before…

"Do… Do I know you? Who are you?" asked Red Hand Pete.

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

"You're aiming too high!"

"You're aiming too low!"

"Too high! You'll never hit the mainmast; the ball will just jump above the deck and fell on the other side of the brig!" said Pintel.

"Forget it! I know what I'm doing," grumbled Ragetti. "You're such a lousy shot; you can just manage to perforate the hull at a distance of three feet!"

"I've never heard such dishonesty! Give me the taper and I'll show you who the best shot is!"

"No way! I refuse to waste a good cannonball!"

* * *

_On the _Conqueror_'s main deck_

Bill Turner knew he had to think fast: for the life of him, he couldn't relinquish his hold on Will, but Jack was in dire danger. The crazed enemy could plunge his sword into Sparrow's crumpled form at any moment, and Bill wouldn't be able to do anything to prevent it. But he refused to be a passive witness, just like the time he hadn't been able to stop Davy Jones from hurting his son. Fighting was out of the question with Will in his arms and Bill didn't have the gift to turn into a thunderbolt to char Red Hand Pete, the elder Turner had to use Jack's weapon of choice: his brains.

The enemy seemed hesitant, and then he asked again while frantically searching his memory: "Who are you?"

Bootstrap suddenly understood what was confusing Red Hand Pete: the famous Turner family resemblance. Will definitively looked like his father!

"I'm Turner," answered the older man.

If it weren't for the sword pointed right at him, Bill would have laughed out loud at the expression of stupefied stupidity on Red Hand Pete's face! His eyes were so enormous, they looked as if they'd fall from their sockets any instant, and a thin trickle of saliva was running from the corner of his mouth.

"You're… what?"

"I'm Captain Turner, of the _Flying Dutchman_," lied Bootstrap Bill.

Red Hand Pete remained stunned for a second, and then he menacingly raised his sword with a twisted grin on his face.

"You don't fool me! You're Sparrow's man. He ordered you to tell me more stories!"

"Sparrow didn't order me to do anything. I am the real Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. The man you've kidnapped is my son. He kept silent under your tortures to protect me, you miserable swine!"

"What?! But… But he materialized on my ship like a ghost! He heard the cries of the brat's soul!"

"I am the one who heard the soul's cry, and I asked my son if he could investigate the causes of the boy's distress! As for his apparition on your brig, I can give him this ability whenever I want. The powers of the _Dutchman_'s Captain can be momentarily transferred to his flesh and blood. You've abducted the wrong Turner, you confounded idiot!"

Red Hand Pete was starting to feel sick after hearing Bootstrap Bill's declaration: could it be true? Had the whole thing be a case of mistaken identity? Had he lost precious time torturing the wrong man, while the real Captain of the ghost ship was trailing him? If so, he was facing an immortal opponent!

On the floor, Jack was slowly regaining his senses.

"H-How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"You want proof?" asked Bill with a sarcastic laugh, and his right hand let go of Will's legs. He slipped his fingers inside the openings of his own wine-colored shirt, and he took out from beneath the cloth… the Dead Man Chest's key, hanging from its silver chain.

Red Hand Pete was flabbergasted: the key had a double-stemmed design, identical to the drawing a Bayou man had done on a scrap of paper after Long had "persuaded" him to talk, during their raid on the Pantano River! The magical key, the unique mean to open the Dead Man's Chest containing the heart of Calypso's lover and protégé; the one which was supposedly kept by the _Flying Dutchman_'s Captain at all time… If this Turner was indeed the one he was looking for, no wonder why his son didn't have the key on him, after Gregorson, Lestrade and Andrews had torn his garments into shreds!

A ruse came to Bill's mind, an idea that would "prove" his identity and convince Red Hand Pete of his statements. He had a crisscrossed scar on his left breast; it was the souvenir of a knife wound he had sustained during his pirating days, when he was serving under the _Black Pearl_'s mast. Inspired by his idea, Bootstrap Bill deliberately enlarged his shirt's openings, showing his chest so the old scar would be visible… in order to make believe his heart had been carved out.

"You damaged my ship, that's why I had to ask for reinforcements, promising my allies a fortune in exchange of their help. If you hadn't had my son, I would have sent your brig to the bottom of the ocean days ago – and I wouldn't have bothered to ferry your soul on the Other Side!" finished the elder Turner.

The twice-mislead pirate Captain didn't want to believe he had made a mistake in kidnapping Will, but there was a part of truth in Bill's words: his strong resemblance with the captive, his possession of the key, the scar, the way he said _"Turner"_ without hesitations… A diabolical gleam suddenly shone in Red Hand Pete's eyes, as his delusions gave him a new hope: he could still force the real commander of the _Dutchman_ to come with him and, afterwards, to tell him where the Dead Man's Chest was really buried! He stepped over the body of the groaning Sparrow, completely ignoring him, and walked towards Bill with his sword pointed right at the unconscious young man's throat.

"You're coming with me, Turner," snarled Red Hand Pete. "You may be immortal but your son isn't. You both are my prisoners now. We'll take a longboat and get the Hell out of here. If you value your issue's life, you'll obey me. Move it!"

"_KATIL_!" roared a voice, and the _Conqueror_'s commander barely had the time to block the strike of a curved sword before finding himself face-to-face with Ammand the Corsair. The tall, mustached, menacing Turk had a recently-sharpened weapon in his hand, with the conspicuous intention to use it! Ammand quickly changed position so he'd stand between Red Hand Pete and the Turners, protecting Master Bootstrap and his son from their common foe.

"_Katil!_ (Murderer)," repeated Ammand, his long brow hair floating in the wind. "Get ready to meet your doom!"

"No! Ammand, wait! You don't understand…" started Red Hand Pete, but the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea wouldn't have any of it. He charged at the hated pirate, his defense skills of deadly reputation proving once more that Ammand was more than able to hold his own against the best swordsman.

Jack shook the last remnants of his dizziness and picked himself up, using his sword like a walking stick: actually, he was very surprised to be still alive! Before heroically passing out, he had been sure Red Hand Pete would seize the opportunity to skewer him and put an end to the illustrious career of the no-less illustrious Captain Sparrow. But even if he was seeing double from the blow, he could see Bill Turner, apparently unscathed and still carrying Will, watching Ammand fighting Red Hand Pete!

"Bill! (Ouch!)" called Jack, swaying more than ever and holding his aching head, "What happened?"

"I used my brains, just like you do, Jack. I fed that bastard a real cock-and-bull story to gain time, enough for Ammand to come and for you to wake up."

"And you did well, Master Bootstrap!" exclaimed Ammand. "Now go back to the _Seref_ while _Serçe_ and I will have a little chat with this _hain_ (traitor)!"

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

"Too high!" roared Pintel.

"Too low!" screamed Ragetti.

The two men were fighting for the possession of the taper, and Aydin thought he had lost his mind during the battle!

"Too high!"

"Too low!"

* * *

_On the _Conqueror_'s main deck…_

Bill looked at Jack, who nodded in approval. Even if the elder Turner was somehow frustrated about not being able to deal with Red Hand Pete – in the lines of wringing his scrawny neck -, his first priority was to make sure his child was safe. Will was far more important than any dreams of revenge, and he was in danger as long as he remained aboard the brig. Bill would rather be quartered rather than compromise the rescue plan with his own actions, especially after all the risks Jack had taken to infiltrate the _Conqueror_ and lure its Captain for two days in a row!

Tightening his grip on his son, Bill turned around to reach the ropes hanging from the grapnels the Turks had used for their boarding party; but all of a sudden, a small, nasty-looking Chinaman blocked his way!

"Going somewhere?" hissed Shiao Long, his hands armed with his interrogation devices.

The disgraced advisor had fled the progressively-submerged lower levels to reach the upper deck, and he had noticed the strongly-built man carrying the inert prisoner away from the melee. Long was in extreme danger with his cousin Wang Tao right at his heels, and the only solution for him to get out of this mess alive was to regain his Master's good graces. What better way to restore his credentials than preventing the escape of the Captain's prisoner?

But his clever plan backfired badly, because his apparition gave Bill a very bad case of blind fury. Bootstrap already had to improvise a story to save Jack's life; but this time, Sparrow wasn't in danger of being trounced so he refused to waste another minute by dealing with another interferer!

"GET LOST!" yelled Bill Turner, his right foot colliding violently with the Chinese's balls; the kick made Long fly through the air before he collided with the base of the brig's mainmast. His torturing tools bounced on the wooden planks, harmless and disregarded.

"_Ooooh, __this is going to hurt," _thought Jack with a ferocious smile._ "Too bad ol' Bootstrap didn't know he was dealing with William's tormentor, otherwise he would have pulverized his face!"_

Long, curled up at the bottom of the mainmast, was holding his damaged scrotum as much as he could. Never, in all his life, would he have imagined a hit in this area would hurt like this! All of a sudden, the memories of his victims came back to his mind: the countless men and women on whom he had used his devices on their private parts, how they had pleaded, begged and implored him to stop…Oh, he was beginning to realize the intensity of the torments his victims had endured!

To think he'd almost "worked" on Turner's genitals… the protégé of Mazu, the sea goddess… Shiao Long was now persuaded the young man was truly under higher powers' protection, as there were no other explanation for his failure… perhaps this tall man had been sent by Mazu to punish him for his sacrilegious ideas!

He somehow managed to get on his knees, rivulets of tears falling down on his face and neck, including on the tattoo of the black dragon. Then, a shadow fell upon him and Long looked up to see Death Incarnate staring right at him.

"Hello, cousin," said Wang Tao with a kind smile. How thoughtful of the Honorable Lord First Officer of the Soul Vessel to deliver his prey right at his feet!

"_Oooh, this is going to hurt even more!"_ rejoiced Jack.

Long squeaked ridiculously, just like the caricature of a frightened mouse; the sight of his family's executioner gave him enough strength to jump on his feet, in spite of the burning pain in his abdomen, and he clumsily adopted a defense position.

Wang Tao obliged, willing to give his traitorous cousin a last chance to fight for his insignificant life, even though Long had a snowball's chance in Hell to overpower his opponent. The wife of Uncle Chan would be avenged in a minute.

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

"Too high!"

"Too low!"

"Too high!"

In their struggle for the possession of the glowing taper, Pintel and Ragetti failed to notice the flame had brushed against the top of the barrel. The trail of dark gunpowder disappeared in an eruption of sparks, followed by a sizzling sound and an deafening explosion.

**BOOM****!**

* * *

_On the _Conqueror_'s main deck…_

Jack's eyes widened in shock after a cannonball, aimed too high, jumped above the brig's upper deck and crossed it in a blink of an eye, destroying everything in its path before falling down on the other side of the ship, to finish its course into the ocean's waters.

If the gunner's intended target had been the mainmast, then this man had failed completely.

The cannonball had missed the mainmast.

However, it hadn't missed Shiao Long!

TBC…


	24. Thar she blows!

**Disclaimer: **still the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- To Ana: I'd hate to disappoint you, but there won't be any apparitions of Elizabeth in this story… I keep her in store for the sequel! ;-)

- To Matteic: _bonjour! Cela faisait un moment que je n'avais pas eu de tes nouvelles!_

- To Sonjadore: I hope you are feeling better!

- "_Santabárbara"_ is a Spanish word referring to the powder magazine of a ship or a fortress. It is named after Saint Barbara, patron saint of artillerymen and people working with guns or explosives.

- In Greek mythology, Medusa was a woman-faced monster which had the power to turn onlookers gazing upon her to stone.

- Wang Tao's proverb is from "The thirty-six stratagems".

* * *

**Chapter 2****4: Thar she blows!**

_O__n the _Conqueror_'s main deck…_

"_Blea__h! How nauseating! What a messy way to die, even for this miserable slug!"_ thought Captain Jack Sparrow with a disgusted grimace on his face, looking at the bloodied remains that used to be Long scattered all over the mainmast's bottom and the deck's planks.

The cannonball had pulverized Red Hand Pete's pet torturer, turning him into a pile of tiny, unrecognizable bits and it was indeed a gruesome sight – not to mention the sent of charred flesh adding itself to the overpowering smells of gunpowder coming from the various grenades, pistols, blunderbusses and cannons, which were enough to make any stomach feel like emptying its contents as soon as possible. Jack felt his throat drying up and he made a mental note to get abominably drunk after this whole business was over; he was feeling absolutely no sympathy towards Shiao Long and his horrible death – not in a million years, after what the nasty little man had done to Will – but this fog of smoke and gunpowder was definitively making him thirsty!

Wang Tao hadn't moved a muscle witnessing his cousin's sudden demise, not even after he got blood splattered all over his face and his immaculate silken clothes. Incredibly, an enigmatic smile appeared on the spy's lips just before he bent down, grabbed an empty powder bag and started to pick up bloodied parts off the main deck. Obviously, he wanted to bring back to his clan's elders material evidences of Long's obliterated presence on Mother Earth!

Jack grimaced again, and turned around to not see the Chinese collecting his strange "souvenirs". Instead, he focused his attention on Bill Turner carrying Will in his arms – and then he saw something that actually made him smile: Bootstrap had covered Will's eyes with his hand, as if he didn't want his son to watch the gory scene of Long's death… even though Will was unconscious!

But another series of booms coming from the _Seref_'s guns reminded Sparrow that time was running out pretty fast: firstly, because the brig's hull had been hit and its _Santabárbara_ could explode at any moment, sending all men to Davy Jones' Locker and Jack wasn't willing to go back there! But this kind of mishap happened frequently during a boarding, either from a lousy aim from the attacking gunners or by a Captain resolute to not let his ship fall into the pirates' clutches – even if it meant certain death to everyone.

Secondly, because Red Hand Pete and Ammand were still clashing swords and, unfortunately, it looked like Pete was still holding his ground. Ammand was very good in defense, but offense was his main drawback and it made it difficult for him to win duels. The Turkish Corsair was fighting with all his might and the _Conqueror_ hadn't exploded yet, but how long would their luck last? In the case of Red Hand Pete winning, Ammand wouldn't have any other choice than to surrender, thus making his men stop the fight at once! And if it happened, all their joined efforts to free Will would finish at the business end of a rope, at best.

So, it was high time for Captain Jack Sparrow to use his emergency plan. He had never been one to be caught by surprise, especially in perilous situations like an unexpected meeting with law representatives or becoming the main course of a Pelegostos picnic. His main plan to rescue Will had been drawn since their first meeting with Ammand on the _Seref_. But another idea had germinated in Jack's overactive brains when Martingale's Black Spot had fallen on the deck's planks, right after the late sailor's botched mutiny attempt. Jack had gotten the idea to "call" for some heavy-weight extra help, in case things would become too difficult… and to get rid of the brig and its commander once and for all. Of course, this new plan was sheer lunacy, since Jack would have to use the supernatural and a lot of luck for his "call" to be heard, thus narrowing its chances of success to zero; but then again, eccentricity was his middle name and he had total confidence in his marvelous intellect!

But first things first: for his emergency plan to work, Jack had to create a marker that will track down Red Hand Pete's vessel. Then, they would have to get out of the _Conqueror_ because it would be most dangerous to remind aboard if the "summoned" help ever came! Jack got out Will's dark green bandana from under his shirt and ran towards Bill Turner.

"Bill! Hold on for a minute, will ya?"

"Jack, what in the name of mother and child are you doing?" asked Bootstrap Bill, looking incredulously at his friend who was hastily moping Will's face and neck with the bandana, soaking the cloth with the blood and sweat of his son. Although he was somehow grateful for Jack to tend to his wounded William, a battlefield wasn't the good place to give a man medical attention!

"You'll see, mate. You'll understand my incredible plan. Ooh, this will go down in the annals of piracy, and in gold letters, mark my words! It will be the most extraordinary exploit of Captain Jack Sparrow! Okay, I have what I need," said Jack, glancing at the maculated bandana. "Now go back to the galley, Bill, and I mean now!"

Bill Turner was clearly puzzled by Jack's strange actions, but he didn't press the matter, sensing the urgency in his friend's voice. Dozens of grapnels had been thrown by the Turks, biting into the brig's rail, upper deck and sails, their ropes tensely securing the hold of the _Seref_ on the _Conqueror_. He grabbed one of the lines dangling from one of the yard-arms, and secured it around his fist; tightening his hold on Will, Bootstrap leaped back to the galley's gunwale in one mighty jump, showing a strength and agility that hadn't been dimmed by the years. Fortunately, the rope and the hook were resistant enough to support the weight of two men and, after a few seconds of zooming though the air, the Turners landed safely on the _Seref_'s deck. They were immediately greeted by Yusuf, who had remained behind to supervise the gunners' work.

"Is this young man your kidnapped "friend", Master Bootstrap?" exclaimed the First Mate at the sight of Will, cradled in his father's embrace.

"He is," answered Bill, feeling a huge amount of relief for being back on Ammand's ship and safely behind the Turkish guns; Red Hand Pete couldn't hurt his son anymore!

"_Maaşallah!_ (May God protect him)! What happened to him? He looks like he had been tortured by demons!"

"You have no idea how right you are, Master Yusuf. Do you think your surgeon can help him?"

The First Mate shook his head negatively, a disgusted look on his face.

"The lower deck is already full of wounded and dying men, Master Bootstrap; it looks more like an open butchery! The surgeon kicked out the two Barbossa idiots who were supposed to assist him because this pair of butterfingers made such a mess, the wounded refused their help! It created a huge argument downstairs and the medical care was badly delayed. Frankly, Master Bootstrap, it would be better if you went to the _Kaptan_'s Great Cabin and tend to this man by yourself."

Bill looked sadly at his injured, unconscious son, clad only with the _Conqueror_'s Jolly Roger draped across his waist. William looked so frail, almost delicate with his pale skin glowing feebly under the sun. In fact, his father was preventing himself from breathing too loud, as if it could aggravate Will's still-bleeding wounds. His child could certainly not receive special care in a darkened, overcrowded and dirty lower deck! Acknowledging Yusuf's words, Bill walked towards Ammand's cabin.

* * *

_Aboard the _Conqueror_'s main deck…_

"NO! NO!" roared desperately Red Hand Pete, watching helplessly at the tall man jumping back to the _Seref_ with the young prisoner in his arms.

It was the end! The real Captain Turner had swung aboard the galley using one of the grappling lines, taking away his hostage and his last hopes to find the Dead Man's Chest! In Red Hand Pete's confused mind, there were no doubts the burly-shaped older man was the true commander of the _Flying Dutchman_ – especially after Bill had shown him the double-stemmed key hanging from his neck. Bootstrap Bill would never know how convincing he had been with his lies! But the _Conqueror_'s Captain had indeed lost everything this time, except for his life, but his Turkish opponent seemed resolute to rectify this situation very soon!

Ammand's curved sabre was a deadly weapon, and its holder never gave him a chance to explain why he had denounced him to the Janissaries in Istanbul. But why would Ammand held such a grudge against him? It hadn't been that big of a betrayal, after all! Maybe Red Hand Pete could show him the errors of his ways, to convince him Sparrow and the Turners were the real enemies…

"Ammand, please! Listen to me!" pleaded Red Hand Pete while blocking the Pirate Lord's furious attacks. "If you let me explain…"

"_Ağzini kapat_! (Shut your mouth!) I have nothing to listen from you, disgusting traitor!" shot Ammand back.

"You don't understand! I didn't want to betray you, but the Janissaries cornered me and they threatened to use the worst kind of tortures! I admit I should have been more careful in Istanbul, but they had spies and informers everywhere – including amongst the underground suppliers of food and ammunitions. I was forced to talk, and then the Janissaries ambushed you and your men; I barely had the time to escape from the gaols! I tried to come back to help you, but it was too late so I had to flee!"

"Who are you trying to fool, _eşşoğlu eşek_ (son of a donkey)?" shot Ammand back. "Do you think I don't know about the reward you got from the Sultan himself? A hundred gold pieces for your treason! And you've never been caught by the Janissaries; you deliberately went to see them. I've made discreet inquiries after our defeat, and it didn't take me long to realize what really happened. You even assisted to my men's execution, laughing out loud with the Sultan's representative at their cries of pain! And you even said, I quote, _"It's a great pity Ammand isn't here to participate in those festivities!"_ But I have you now and you're going to pay for my cousin's death!"

The blond-haired pirate blanched at the Corsair's words: it was true he had made that joke about Ammand not being present to see his men dying at the hands of the executioners. So it was no use lying about him selling his associate to the authorities. To think he had gained a hundred gold pieces for his betrayal… blood money he had lost one week later, after he had carelessly played cards with a notorious cheater in a Marseilles' gambling-den!

"Ammand, listen to me! You and I can conclude another deal! The Turners know about the location of a treasure, holding riches beyond your imagination. If we join forces, we will find the chest and I will be able to repay a hundredfold the debt I owe you. Don't be stupid, you're throwing away a fortune!"

"I know all about the Dead Man's Chest, and I am not interested in helping you becoming immortal!" snapped the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea.

But the doomed Captain's speech had exasperated Ammand, making him partly loose his concentration. Seeing an opening, Red Hand Pete attacked viciously and the Corsair hadn't had the time to fend off: his curved sabre was violently knocked off his hand and thrown in the air before landing nearby the ship's rail, out of reach. The _Conqueror_'s Captain pointed his blade at his disarmed opponent's throat.

"Surrender, Ammand, or I'll rip your tongue out of your mouth before I reunite you with your dear cousin!"

"Hey, Ammand! Catch this!" yelled a voice, and the duelists looked to see Jack Sparrow throwing his sword at the Turkish Corsair, who deftly caught it in mid-air.

"SPARROW!" roared Red Hand Pete, this time completely berserk. He abandoned his duel with Ammand to charge at the unarmed Jack like a maddened bull, slashing at everything or everyone standing on his way, including his own crewmembers.

Ammand could hardly believe his own eyes: Red Hand Pete had given up their fight to run after _Serçe_! Yelling insults in Turkish, the Corsair tried to follow his enemy but the warring sailors made his progression difficult.

Understanding the immediate danger, Jack didn't bother to pick up another discarded weapon. He quickly hid behind the foremast to dodge Red Hand Pete's slashes, with all the speed he could master. From an observer's point of view, the scene was rather hilarious: the _Conqueror_'s commander kept on swinging his blade at his opponent, who was agilely evading blow after blow by jumping like a nervous squirrel behind the mast; as a result, Red Hand Pete's blade only managed to hit the wood, sending shards flying in every direction!

But for Captain Jack Sparrow, avoiding decapitation by circling around a foremast wasn't his idea of fun. In fact, this whole situation held an annoying probability that it would deteriorate his superb physique sooner than later – especially sooner! Normally, his brains would supply his tongue with the needed words to weasel his way out of peril. But this time, Jack didn't feel like silver-talking, especially not to a man who had hurt his little brother so badly. In fact, he was more in the mood to taunt, so he said:

"You know, Red Hand Pete, you should seriously consider to sign up for leadership lessons. Your anger-prove temperament and your unwillingness to compromise prevent you from looking at the big picture, while your obsession for the Dead Man's Chest and an impossible ambition blind you from obvious traps set by superiorly-gifted minds, like the one I happen to house in my skull. I mean, what kind of a leader could be foolish enough to believe the fantastic stories I've fed you? Seamen are supposed to be superstitious, but your naiveté was absolutely ridiculous! I had a hard time controlling my laughter aboard that miserable bathtub you have the pretention to call a ship. Frankly, your Daddy-dearest hasn't made the right career choice for you: instead of enrolling you in the Royal Navy, he should have sent you to the nearest theater: you would have been a great interpreter of the buffoon in the _King Lear_ play!"

"YOU DARE?! I'LL KILL YOU, LITTLE BASTARD!" yelled Red Hand Pete, missing Jack's head for about an inch.

"Are you making accusations about my mother's honor? Tsk! I should report you to Captain Teague, the Keeper of the Code. He doesn't appreciate this kind of allusions, you know – especially coming from a lower-than-imbecilic, stony-broke pirate leading a flotsam. No wonder you're such a lousy outlaw, if you've made only unrealistic plans to try and become rich. You call yourself a buccaneer? You are more a _bread-cannot_!"

But that last barbed comment sent his adversary over the edge: with a renewed fury, he swung his sword high and Jack dodged the hit once more… but his foot got caught in a rope lying on the deck and he tripped over his own feet again, landing flat on his back. He barely had the time to curse his inattentiveness before Red Hand Pete yelled a cry of triumph and raised his sword over his head, getting ready to give the _coup de grace_…

… But all of a sudden, Red Hand Pete froze like a statue. A stupefied expression appeared on his face, his mouth was wide open, his blue-green eyes had gone huge; in fact, he looked as if he had been petrified by the deadly glaze of the legendary Medusa. However, Jack quickly understood that the Greek mythology monster wasn't the cause of the lanky man's rigidity: somebody had run a sword through Red Hand Pete's torso. Raising his eyes, Jack saw Ammand had come to his rescue by skewering the _Conqueror_'s commander; his hand was still holding the blade that had delivered the fatal strike and his embroidered cloak was flapping in the wind, like a flag of revenge.

"For Sami!" yelled the Corsair.

Red Hand Pete instinctively grabbed at the sword in a futile attempt to remove it, but it was already too late: the sharpened weapon had cut through and through his body, damaging vital organs and provoking a massive internal bleeding. The pointed end of the blade, dripping with gore, was coming out of his back. Pain seized his whole frame, making him kneel heavily at Ammand's feet. Red Hand Pete was gaping like a landed fish, his eyes fixed on the weapon's pommel sticking out from his shirt as if he refused to admit someone had managed to wound him.

Ammand extended his hand and helped Sparrow to get back on his feet. The two pirates looked down in disgust at the man responsible for the torture and the death of so many people, and who had almost succeeded to add the name of the extraordinary Captain Jack Sparrow to the list of his victims. Ammand was more grim-faced than usual and Jack, for once, kept his mouth shut for a few heartbeats – he knew the Corsair was thinking about his men and his cousin, executed in horrible conditions at Istanbul after Red Hand Pete's treason.

Finally, Jack said: "Thank you for your well-timed intervention, Ammand."

"_Bir şer değil, Serçe_ (You're welcome, Sparrow)"

"What do we say we get out of here?"

The Corsair broke away from the sight of his dying enemy to look at Jack straight in the eyes.

"I thought you wanted to blow this brig up, _Serçe_? Have you changed your mind already?"

"Not at all, it is just that I happen to know a quite-impressive way to do it: more efficient than all the firepower of your guns, and less dangerous for our estimable persons as long as we don't remain here. So it would be safer for us to go back on your galley immediately and put as many leagues as we can between the _Seref_ and this miserable cockleshell, savvy?"

The Turkish Corsair didn't understand at all what Jack was referring to, but he had plenty of common sense and he knew he would gain nothing from remaining on the captured brig any longer: the _Conqueror_ was damaged, fires had started in the lower levels and Red Hand Pete certainly didn't keep any treasure onboard. Ammand had had his vengeance, but he also knew his responsibilities towards his men and he wouldn't compromise their safety on a whim, unlike a soon-to-be-dead traitor.

"_Tamam_ (All right) Serçe, I will give the call for retreat."

"Good man!" exclaimed Jack, and Ammand yelled his orders in Turkish, loud enough for everyone to know in spite of the deafening explosions coming out from the cannons.

The Barbary Corsairs all stopped their fighting and started to evacuate the brig, leaving their opponents in a complete state of confusion: the attackers were dropping out of the boarding! The Turks were jumping back on the _Seref_ at all haste, using grappling lines, planks, even ladders, whatever came at hand to help them flee. Wang Tao ran amongst Ammand's men, clutching the bloodied powder bag in his hand. The _Conqueror_'s sailors remained rooted on the spot: they hadn't realized their Captain was wounded so they couldn't understand why the Turks were abandoning their ship. Wrongly thinking they had won the combat, some of the crewmembers started cheering in triumph but others remained silent, trying to figure out what was going on. Boarders wouldn't abandon their prey unless something was terribly wrong!

Jack took out one of Red Hand Pete's empty pistols from his weapon belt and wrapped it in Will's bandana: a perfect signal for the "reinforcement" to come! Then he ran grabbed at one of the lines and jumped on the brig's rail, but before he could leap on the galley's gunwale, he couldn't resist boasting one last time and he declared:

"Alas, my glue-for-brains adversaries, you will always remember this as the day you _almost_ caught Captain Jack Sparrow!"

And with a last flourish, laughing like a maniac, Jack jumped back on the _Seref_, conveniently dropping the bandana and the pistol into the water. The cloth quickly sunk in the depths of the ocean, weighted down by a weapon previously held by the young Turner's abductor….

As soon as the bandana disappeared in the salty waters, a strange ripple ran through the millennia-old seabed, an underground vibration which made the Earth shook. The traces of Will's blood, tears and sweat got mixed with the ocean's water which started to seethe wildly. A groan of anger could be heard and the ripples increased in number and intensity.

On _Isla de Muerta_, the marooned sailors looked at each other in a panic, wondering what the commotion was about.

It sounded like a dragon awakening…

* * *

_Aboard the _Conqueror_…_

Complete confusion reigned aboard the brig. Taylor, the quartermaster, had been killed during the fight with the Barbary Corsairs and Red Hand Pete was as good as dead, still kneeling on the main deck while clutching at the sword stuck between his lungs and making awful croaking noises. A mix of blood and saliva was dripping from his gaping mouth but none of his men were thinking of tending to their Captain. In fact, the few able-bodied of them were evacuating the ship as well, leaving behind their dead comrades and their dying commander!

Red Hand Pete tried to protest, to scream at the fleeing men to come back and help him, but to no avail: the thrust inflicted by Ammand had managed to silence him, and soon it would be forever. Surrounded by debris and cadavers, fatally wounded, Red Hand Pete could only watch with darkening eyes the galley surging backwards, leaving the battlefield. Why Ammand and Sparrow would leave the fight? Victory was theirs!

But no one could answer the questions of the murderer dying for his wish to become immortal. Red Hand Pete could only stare at the _Seref_ and hold at the sword rammed into his body, while vainly trying to escape from the overwhelming pain.

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

"YUSUF! Tell the rowers to break their backs on their oars! We have to get out of this place!" yelled Ammand.

"_Evet, Kaptan!_ (Aye, Captain)" answered the First Mate at once, hearing the urgency in his commander's voice. As soon as they had landed on the _Seref_'s main deck, the corsairs chopped at the remaining grappling lines to disentangle their ship from the _Conqueror_. Crowding on all sails and rowing hard, but helped by favorable winds, the galley slowly but steadily distanced itself from the sinking brig.

Bootstrap Bill hadn't been able to reach the Great Cabin; the exchange of cannonballs and pistol shots had made it too dangerous for him to cross the main deck. Instead, he had opted for crouching behind the _Seref_'s mainmast, hoping the wooden pillar would be large enough to protect his son. He had witnessed the retreat of Ammand's men and Wang Tao, and for a moment he had feared the Corsairs had given up because their Captain had been killed during the boarding. But Ammand had jumped back on the _Seref_ too, quickly followed by Jack, and the ex-doomed sailor had felt a huge relief at this sight!

"_Stop shooting! Haul all sails! Head out for the open sea!"_ roared Ammand, his gaze fixed on the hissing bubbles which were exploding at the water's surface, between the _Seref_ and the _Conqueror_. He remembered Jack had dropped something at this exact point. He had dismissed it as unimportant at the time, but now the waters were bubbling as if they were boiling, and for the life of him Ammand couldn't understand why: there were no immerged volcanoes signaled in this area, so what in the world was making the water hissing as if inside a cauldron?

"_Serçe_, what have you thrown down there?"

"My signal for some extra help, Ammand; a call to some high powers, all in the purpose to destroy the _Conqueror_ until it is left nothing but toothpicks."

"What do you mean?"

Jack sighed and turned around to see Bill Turner sitting on the main deck, partially hiding behind the mainmast; he was still cradling Will in his arms and he appeared indifferent to the commotion on the _Seref_'s main deck.

"I called Calypso," confessed Jack.

"You WHAT?" asked Ammand, his gold-and-brown eyes looking incredulously at his guest.

"Ammand, the young Turner is not only Bill's son and my best friend; he is also Calypso's protégé. He's the one she has chosen to free the _Flying Dutchman_ and its crew from Davy Jones' corruption, so the souls of those lost at sea would be ferried to the Other World. To accomplish this ten-year long mission, she granted Will with some extraordinary powers, which are all linked to the sea. Red Hand Pete cut him off the ocean by keeping him half-buried in a crate full of soil; that's how he had been able to torture him, and that is also why Calypso couldn't realize something had happened to Will."

"But how have you managed to call her?"

"I used Davy Jones' trick, when he sent the Kraken to track me down. He gave me a Black Spot, so even if I'd fled to the ends of the world, his foul-smelling leviathan would have found me anyway. The Black Spot was a signal betraying my presence, and it was so powerful the Kraken had swallowed my hat after it had drifted far from the _Black Pearl_ – that stupid pet monkey of Barbossa had knocked it overboard. _**It meant Jones' marker had rubbed off on my clothes as well**_. So I figured out the same pattern would work with Calypso: _**sending her an item that belonged to Will would draw her attention**_. I've managed to retrieve the kid's bandana – he had acquired it with his captaincy of the _Flying Dutchman_ – and I've soaked it with his blood and sweat before throwing it into the water… The sea is getting choppy; it can only mean Calypso has "sensed" the distress of her protégé and she's going to send some heavy artillery to punish the culprits responsible for his ordeal."

"WHAT?!" exclaimed the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea. "What kind of HEAVY artillery? Do you think she will create a maelstrom, just like last time?"

"It's a faint possibility," said Jack with a shrug. "But we can weather that storm, can't we?"

Ammand looked like he would throttle Jack on the spot, but he was a seaman to the core; the safety of his ship prevailed above everything, including disagreements about exasperating guests, so he barked:

"YUSUF! Tell the men to row harder! ON THE DOUBLE! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE, RIGHT NOW!"

* * *

_On the seabed…_

The dark green bandana and Red Hand Pete's pistol had sunk until they had reached the algae-covered stones; but the agitation in the water was constantly increasing. The package thrown by Jack was soon caught into a small whirlpool, as if the currents wanted to separate the weapon from the cloth. After a few minutes of struggle, the knots on the bandana were untied and the pistol was thrown back into the seabed. Immediately, the underground tremors became more and more violent, as if the ocean was revolted by the presence of an object, formerly belonging to a vile man, lying in its depths. A small crab got out from under a rock and his tiny legs raised a cloud of sand in the direction of the pistol, partly covering it.

The bandana was pulled towards the surface by the bubbles, spinning around like an autumn leaf carried by the wind. The traces of Will's blood were slowly dissolving in the water.

The groans of anger resounded again… louder than before.

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

"_Serçe_, I don't know if I should hug you or strangle you! You could have warned me beforehand you had planned to call Calypso for help!"

"Ammand, I've got this idea after I had convinced Red Hand Pete to head for _Isla de Muerta_!" replied Jack, looking indignant. "And I couldn't send you and Bill a message at the time, Besides, I can hardly see the purpose of you saving my life if you want to end it two minutes afterwards! It would be pretty illogical, savvy?"

Grumbling some chosen imprecations beneath his curled mustache, the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea watched his men breaking their backs on the galley's oars, or frantically hauling the Latin sails to gain enough speed, obediently following Yusuf's and Aydin's orders. Luckily, the _Seref_ was a fast ship with a good inclination to the winds, so after a few minutes of panicky work the galley was able to distance itself from the immobilized and ruined _Conqueror_.

Bill Turner was watching the hated brig from his sitting position, and it was slowly getting smaller. Sensing that something was about to happen, he called out to Captain Sparrow:

"What's going on? Why are we leaving in such a hurry?"

"You'll see, mate!" answered Jack, winking at him. "My final touch to my wonderful rescue plan and it will perpetuate our exceptional reputation until the end of times!"

"Or it will get us all killed!" shot Ammand back. "You and your foolish ideas! Have you forgotten already her reaction after we have released her from human bounds?"

"The whole trouble with you, Ammand, is that you don't believe in foolishness. As I've already said to Bootstrap Bill, the more crazy an idea is, the more chances it has to succeed. How do you think I've survived all these years, mate?"

"Your enemies were all besotted on rum?" asked the Turkish Corsair sarcastically.

"Tsk! My plan will work, I'm telling you. I've sent the appropriate item to call Calypso and, judging by the bubbling waters we can see from here, my signal had been heard loud and clear by the Whirlpool Lady."

"One proverb says: _"Toss out a brick to get a jade gem,"_" said Wang Tao, who had overheard the conversation between the two captains. "I confess to feel curious to see, Honorable Lord Officer of the _Black Pearl_, if your "brick" will indeed produce a jade."

A loud sound suddenly rang through the air: it sounded like a cry of pain and a roar of outrage at the same time. Some of the Barbary Corsairs stopped their work to stare at the open ocean, pointing at something… a ripple beneath the water, coming right in their direction!

Jack gulped, and darted nervous looks between the "thing" travelling parallel to the surface and the suddenly frail-looking _Seref_. He couldn't believe he had accidentally summoned a monster in the likes of a resurrected Kraken: Jones' beastie was dead! He had seen with his own eyes its remains being eaten with relish by seagulls! But whatever was swimming under the water, it looked huge, powerful… and fast.

"Ahem… Ammand? Maybe we could add some extra speed in those triangular sheets of yours?"

The Pirate Lord of the Black Sea yelled more orders, but before his sailors could obey, the strange speeding mass dived under the galley in a fluid movement. Jack ran to the rail and looked down to get a glimpse at the creature; after a few seconds he turned around, wide-eyed in astonishment, to face Ammand and Bill.

"_Serçe_?" asked the Corsair, not used to see Jack looking so surprised.

"Mates… It's a humpback whale!"

Bootstrap Bill almost relinquished his hold on Will at the news: a humpback whale? The elder Turner had seen those animals in his time, both as a merchant sailor and a pirate, and their impressive sizes and agility had never ceased to amaze him. Humpback whales were easily recognizable by their humps, their black dorsal coloring and their heads covered with knobs; their lengths were estimated from forty to fifty feet, and some sea dogs affirmed those animals were able to sing – even if Bill doubted that last point. But he knew by experience these animals tend to stay away from humans and never attacked their ships, so what was that beast doing here?

The answer came very promptly: under the incredulous eyes of anyone aboard the Turkish galley, the humpback whale gracefully breached out of the water, just in front of the _Conqueror_!

* * *

_Aboard the _Conqueror_…_

The dying Red Hand Pete could only watch in awe the body of the seventy-nine thousand pounds animal leaping out of the water, on the starboard side of his ship. The whale's enormous mass, covered with tubercles and shells, stood up like a gigantic wall of flesh and muscle for an instant, and then landed on the main deck with a fantastic crash.

"Calypso…" managed to say Red Hand Pete with his last breath, just before being reduced to a bloody pulp.

The whale's weight and its speed destroyed the _Conqueror_. The entire ship was pulled under, crushed between the animal and the corral reef. The brig sank immediately, broken in two in a blink of an eye; a shower of wood, bits of canvas, barrels and crates fell into the foaming waters, and in less than a minute there were no signs left that the _Conqueror_ had ever been to Isla de Muerta.

TBC…


	25. The Prince of the Oceans

**Disclaimer: **still the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- To JC: thank you very much!

- To Smithy: I am glad you liked the last chapter! I did arrive safely in my homeland and I've been stuffing myself with every kind of cheese available: brie, camembert, garlic and herbs, goat's log… you name it! ;-)

- To Ana: Jack's pun about a buccaneer being a "bread-cannot" is to mock Pete about his inability to gain money ("bread").

- To Candi: thanks! I love humpback whales since I've seen some in the St Lawrence's bay nearby Tadoussac (Quebec).

- The "bouillabaisse" is a French fish stew originating from the city port of Marseilles. It is composed of cooked fishes, shellfishes and vegetables with added herbs and spices (from Wikipedia).

* * *

**Chapter 2****5: The Prince of the Oceans**

The Barbary Corsairs looked in stunned silence at the wreckage which used to be a brig, just a minute ago. For all their courses around the globe, they had never witnessed such a prodigy: a humpback whale had leaped clear out of the water just to crash its seventy-nine thousand pounds of flesh into a ship! That was something the Turkish sailors would have a hard time to explain at their friends and families, back at home – they'd probably being called fantastic liars for the rest of their lives!

Jack, Ammand and the corsairs looked in awe at their immense savior, but strangely the whale didn't seem perturbed at all about landing its immense bulk on the _Conqueror_. Shortly after the loud "SMACK" of destruction, the whale let out a groan that sounded like a sigh of relief; then it slid from the remains of the brig on its belly to swiftly disappear into deeper waters with a strange serenity, as if destroying a vessel was part of this animal's daily routine just like searching for food or following migratory routes.

But the humpback whale's jump had proven fatal for Red Hand Pete's men who had remained on the _Conqueror_: corpses and dismantled ship materials floated everywhere under a rain of wood and bits of canvas, and it wouldn't be long before they'd all disappear into the ocean's depths under a shroud of foam. The impact had been so brusque and violent, only the pirates catapulted in the water by the momentum had a little chance to survive, provided they could swim long enough to reach the beaches of _Isla de Muerta_.

Andy and Tony had managed to flee on the tiny dinghy formerly belonging to Red Hand Pete. They had sailed away from the naval engagement, slowly but steadily, and luckily none of the _Conqueror_'s sailors or the _Seref_'s corsairs had noticed their escape. They had seen the brig's end, crushed under tons of animal muscles and fat, and they had a hard time believing their own eyes!

A deadly silence followed the sinking of the _Conqueror_, and then Andy exclaimed:

"Didja see that, Tony? That big fish jumped outta the water to sit on the ship!"

"I sure saw it, sonny," answered the old sailor. "´Tis a glorious sight that I will remember until the day I go to me grave."

"But why did that fish do that, Tony? Why would it do this fantastic leap for?"

"T'was a ´umpback whale, sonny, and it jumped because Cap'tain Turner ´as some powerful friends. Yes, very powerful friends indeed, by da look of it."

"Ya mean it landed on the _Conqueror_ to rescue Cap'tain Turner?"

"Nope, I mean dat ´umpback whale did it to destroy all the culprits who had ´urt Cap'tain Turner, startin' with our unloved commander. Red ´and Pete and ´is friends must be tormented by all the demons of ´ell, by now!

"And what about Cap'tain Turner?" asked the boy.

"I'm sure ´e's safe and rescued and far away from dat brig before it went down, worry not!"

Andy remained quiet for a moment, and then he nervously glanced at the ocean's waters before asking, sounding very insecure:

"Is our boat goin' to be crushed by the giant whale, too?"

"Of course not, sonny!" laughed Tony. "You an' I both ´elped Cap'tain Sparrow to free his friend, and you've been hurt by Red ´and Pete when he baited Cap'tain Turner to climb on the _Conqueror_. I saw in that wounded lad's eyes that ´e didn't bear any kind of grudge against us. No, you and I are free. Free lika bird to go anywhere we please."

"But to go where, Tony?" asked the boy with a forlorn voice. "We've been sailin' on a pirate ship; it means the gallows if we reach Port Royal. Tortuga is a crazy place and we cannot go to islands belongin' to French or Spanish crowns. I have no family, and nowhere to go."

"I don't have any kinda relatives anywhere too, meaning we are alone in dis world. Well, we'll go to America!" exclaimed Tony. "I know abbat a nice town up there named Boston. With Red ´and Pete's money stashed in dat leather bag, it will be the perfect spot for an old man and ´is grandson ta open a fish shop."

Andy's eyes shone like turquoises!

"Grandson?"

"Aye, sonny. That's what you are ta me. Are ya interested in 'elpin' me openin' a business? We'll sell freshly-caught fish in our shop after unloading it from a brand-new boat ta call our own."

"Oh, yes! Thank you, Tony!" said the boy, launching himself in the arms of the old sailor. They embraced warmly, Andy grateful at the idea of getting a new parent, and Tony imagining his old days enlightened with a child to care about. The newly appointed grandfather was picturing in his mind their small but comfy house, with a sturdy roof above their heads and a roaring fire in the chimney. A place to call home, where Andy could grow up safely and Tony live without fearing the law, the rope or the whip. Together they would be a family, keeping the best fish shop of Boston, earning honest money from honest work and no one would bother them about their pasts…

"We'll call the shop the _"Tony and Andy's"_!" exclaimed Andy. "And our boat will be named _"The jumping whale"_!"

Hugging the boy close to his heart, Tony looked at the _Seref_ and then he did something he had never imagined doing it in his life: he silently thanked the enemies for attacking their ship and destroying it! He also expressed his gratitude to Captain Jack Sparrow for his incredible insolence and his talent for escaping from dangerous situations; but, above anyone else, he thanked Captain Turner for his exemplary courage, which had given a worn-out sailor the strength to break free from the fears chaining him better than iron.

"_God bless ya, laddie," _thought Tony._ "For ´elping the drifting souls, for your ´onor showing me the way to do better, and for giving us ´ope…. God bless yur ´eart, laddie!"_

The tiny dinghy sailed in the direction of the sunset, far away from the slaughter, taking an old man and his adopted grandson to a better future.

* * *

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

The Turks cheered after the humpback whale had disappeared below the surface, finally realizing their enemies had been blown to pieces by the prodigious intervention of the oversized sea creature. They had absolutely no idea who or whom had sent this animal, but it had been most welcome! The Corsairs were waving around their curved sabres, yelling "_Eşsiz_!" (fantastic!) at the top of their lungs. Pintel and Ragetti had forgotten their debates to hug one another like long-lost relatives. Murtogg and Mulroy prudently poked their heads out of the main deck's hatch to see what the commotion was all about, just to get nearly trampled by Marty, who was doing somersaults. Jack Sparrow was jumping up and down like a maniac, amazed by his own intelligence. Cotton's parrot, perched on his master's shoulder, was screeching _"Hoist the colors!"_ again and again. Wang Tao, clutching his "souvenirs" bag in his hand, was impassively looking at the wreck while whispering under his breath: "A fine jade gem, indeed!"

Ammand kept a dignified face during the whole event, but inwardly he was smiling at his crew's explosion of joy: the fellows had fought well, his ship was still seaworthy and he finally had had his revenge against Red Hand Pete. Maybe his uncle and aunt would forgive him, after he'd tell them how he had thrust his sword into the body of Sami's murderer?

Jack was acting like a complete lunatic: he was walking on his hands, climbing the ratlines, falling on the deck to bounce like a rubber ball, started to dance a French minuet with Marty in spite of the short pirate's protestations and tried to rip some feathers off Cotton's parrot, all this in the same time! Finally he jumped right in front of Ammand with a triumphant gleam in his eyes:

"I'M A GENIUS! Admit it Ammand, I'm the undefeated genius of the entire world! How astute of me to call such a mastodon at our rescue! You were doubtful we would get out of here alive, eh? Eh? But I told you my plan would be failure-proof, haven't I? Captain Jack Sparrow was actually telling the truth, and it is not such a rare event as people think it is. I've always thought it was needless to fight when having leverage, and we did have one in the shape of young Will Turner. Calypso didn't take it too kindly after learning her protégé was in pain and in the middle of danger, so she chastised the perpetrators good and hard. For all my out-of-this-world work, I deserve an avalanche of barrels filled with the finest alcohol of the Caribbean. Ammand, head your galley for the nearest rum distillery. I'm thirsty!"

"_Serçe_, your drunkenness is getting on my nerves sometimes!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, tit for tat, your temperateness drives me crazy!"

The Corsair's bushy eyebrows knotted themselves above his piercing eyes and he looked like he was going to cure Jack's permanent thirst by strangling him on the spot. But then something incredible happened: Ammand smiled and gave the slender man a hearty slap in the back!

"OUCH!" yelped Jack like a trotted-on dog – the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea had a strong arm!

"You impossible man!" said Ammand, laughing his head off at his guest's antics.

"Impossible and unsinkable, you got it one in one," replied Jack, who was secretly hoping that pounding the shoulders of the notorious Captain Sparrow wasn't becoming a fad these days. Ah, well, maybe it was the price to pay for his untarnished fame!

The Corsair and the scruffy pirate grinned at each other; and then, something caught Jack's attention and his smile vanished. Ammand looked around and understood what had made _Serçe_'s happiness disappear so suddenly: it was the sight of Master Bootstrap, still sitting on the deck with his son.

Bill had also witnessed the annihilation of the _Conqueror_ by the humpback whale; a fierce gladness had made his eyes shone like phosphorescent sapphires when the hated brig, with its equally hated commander, had disappeared forever, but his joy had been very short-lived. Holding the heart-wrenching, wounded body of William in his arms, Bill had lost all interest about the enemy's demise to gently cradle his son like a small child. Ammand had his revenge and Jack had succeeded in stopping Red Hand Pete; but at what costs for Will?

"Oh my poor Little One, my darling," said Bill, chocking on the emotion crushing his throat. "What have those monsters done to you? Oh Will, my pure love, I am so sorry I haven't been able to come sooner! Those bastards, a humpback whale was too good for them; I should have torched down the _Conqueror_ after skinning alive every one last of them! God, Will, how could they have dared to touch one hair on your head? They weren't even worthy to breathe around you! Please wake up, Will, please tell me you're going to be all right. I love you so much; I cannot bear to see you in pain. All this is my entire fault. I knew the _Benevolent_ was a fake; I should have come with you! My baby, my baby-"

Bill's litany ended with a sob, and the two Captains exchanged worried looks. Will was indeed looking as he'd die any second if he could, and medical help was a dire necessity. But how in the world do you tend to an immortal man gifted with supernatural powers? Jack certainly didn't have a clue about this at first; fortunately his agile brains soon provided him with the answer, judging by the way his eyes were shining in their sockets. But first things first: he had to retrieve the "signal" he had sent to Calypso.

"Ammand, please stay with Bill; I'll be right back!" said the bird-named pirate, heading for the galley's rail at all haste.

The Turkish Corsair watched in amazement Jack jumping overboard to climb down the _Seref_'s hull, using one of its numerous dangling ropes as a lifeline, and then the tall man shook his head. What new crazy idea had germinated inside _Serçe_'s complex mind? But experience had taught him trying to follow Jack's thoughts was a complete waste of time, so he shrugged off the matter and he turned towards his ship's mainmast. He crouched close to Bill Turner and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's over, Master Bootstrap. Your son is saved. Red Hand Pete is feeding the fishes right now; he will never hurt anyone again, not with my sword stuck inside his rotten carcass!"

"Aye, and I can't thank you enough for your help, Captain Ammand," replied Bill sadly. "But… look at my son, just look at him! What kinds of torments has he been put through? How could he ever be the same again? And yet he endured all their tortures like the hero he is. William protected his family, his men and the whole world from falling prey of a bloodthirsty Davy Jones' emulator, and those cowards have massacred him for his silence!"

Ammand had seen his share of wounds during his pirating career, but he had never witnessed brutalities as worse as the ones displayed on young Captain Turner. The bruises, the deep burns, the whiplashes, the missing fingernails… all these injuries were drawing a huge tattoo of pain on Will's almost-naked body, and his vulnerable state was even enhanced by his pale skin faintly glowing in the sunshine. His father was holding him close to his chest in an effort to shield him against the blowing wind, but it was obvious that Will was cold in spite of the smoldering Caribbean sun and the perspiration on his forehead.

The Pirate Lord of the Black Sea frowned: he'd rather be damned to the Nine Circles of Hell than leaving Captain Turner without any kind of protection! He untied the strings of his embroidered cloak and he shook it off his shoulders. Grumbling a curse in Turkish against the late Red Hand Pete, he quickly wrapped the garment on the inert form of Will Turner.

"Captain Ammand?" blurted out Bootstrap Bill in surprise.

"Your son kept us pirates safe from another immortal tyrant; the least I can do is to keep him warm! With those wounds, he's prone to high fevers that can cause brain damage. This'll do, until he sees a surgeon."

Bill couldn't find his words to express his gratitude for Ammand's generosity: this cloak was made of heavy velvet, embroidered with gold and silver threads and doubled with fine, purple-colored silk. It was worth a small fortune, and yet the Corsair hadn't hesitated to cover his son with, never minding if the blood would irremediably maculate the precious cloth. But Will answered for his father: he sighed softly, moved his head a little and then the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. Cradled in Bill's lap and wrapped in Ammand's big cloak, Will looked as fragile as a fledgling and yet, the young man's beauty and courage also gave him an incredible nobility, something that Long's torture devices and Red Hand Pete's anger hadn't been unable to destroy.

"_He looks like a Prince… _Okyanusyprens_, the Prince of the Ocean," _thought the Turkish Corsair. He placed the palm of his hand on the young man's brow, brushing away the matted dark locks, and said:

"_Elinize sağlik, Kaptain Turner!_" before turning to Bill and translated: "May your hand be blessed, Captain Turner!"

The burly-shaped man stood agape after hearing Ammand's words, but the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea simply smiled:

"Your son's work is more acknowledged than you think, Master Bootstrap. For five years now, pirates and sailors alike have been talking about a new soul-carrying ship leaded by, I quote, _"An angel"_, and how this vessel has replaced the dreaded _Flying Dutchman_ and its crew of monsters. The poor guys haven't realized yet they were talking about the same ship! But young Turner has brought back hope to all the seamen lost at sea, and it would be only fair that he should be praised and rewarded for his actions."

Overwhelmed, a furiously-blushing Bill crushed his son against his powerful chest. Kissing Will on the top of the head, he said:

"I love him more than my life. I can only hope my presence on the _Dutchman_ is somehow lightening his burden, even for a little bit…"

"Bootstrap, you really ought to work on your self-confidence. Would you like to sign up for lessons with a master?" asked an ironic voice. The two men saw Captain Jack Sparrow towering them, with a smug smile on his face and a dripping-wet cloth in his fist.

"What have you been up to again, _Serçe_?"

"Don't you know the lengths of my formidable mastermind by now, Ammand? Since our heavy-weight reinforcement has kindly destroyed the _Conqueror_ for us, I figured it would be wise from my part to retrieve from the sea the "marker" I've sent to Calypso; otherwise our bulky ally might think we'd like an _Encore_ of its jumping performance, but it could mistakenly target the _Seref_ this time and we wouldn't appreciate if this kind of things happened to us, now, would we? So I've climbed down the hull to search through the various debris of our recently-vanquished adversary to find Will's bandana, the one I've deliberately dropped into the water. Lady Luck smiled upon me – as usual – and I've found it floating on a bed of bubbles; so here I am, returning this bandana to the representative of its rightful owner," concluded Jack while handing out the cloth to Bill, who accepted it gratefully.

The Barbary Corsairs' cheers had quieted down and some of them were staring with open curiosity at their _Kaptan_, his guests and the wounded young man lying on the main deck, bundled up in a familiar-looking cloak. After a moment, some faint shouts could be heard from afar and Yusuf ran towards the rail to investigate the cause.

"What is it, Yusuf?"

"_Kaptan_, it's the men who went back on the island after our guns have destroyed their longboat, shortly before the attack. They wave at us and they yell, I think they want to join us. Should we go and pick them up?"

Ammand went to see the stranded survivors, followed by Jack. Some of Red Hand Pete's sailors - the ones who had come ashore with their vainglorious leader to find the Dead Man's Chest - were indeed making frantic signals in the direction of the _Seref_. Jack identified Jefferson, Lewis and Burke amongst them, but they had also been joined by the very few survivors of the whale's jump: Gregorson, Lestrade and Smith the cook, Andrews and the sailor Jack had kicked out of the crow's nest… They all had watched the annihilation of the _Conqueror_, but they had quickly realized they would have to remain on _Isla de Muerta_… unless the Barbary Corsairs would accept them as new crewmembers. Surrendering to their victors seemed a better option than being marooned on this island!

Ammand was reluctant to have former enemies within his men; but he wouldn't sell them in Turkey either, since he hated slavery with a passion! Turning towards Sparrow, he asked:

"What do you think, _Serçe_? Should I send my men with longboats to rescue those worms?"

"I'd advise you against this idea, mate," answered Jack. "You see, during our little excursion on _Isla de Muerta_, I've made Red Hand Pete and his mindless minions believe we were searching for the item their arrogant Captain was so obsessed with. So I **did** lead them to a container, but not the one they were looking for. In fact, it was another brilliant booby-trap… nothing else but the infamous Chest of Cortez!"

Ammand's eyes went wide: like any other pirate, he had heard stories about that chest quite often, but seeking for it was simply against plain common sense!

"Are you talking about the cursed Aztecan gold? It was on this island?"

"Exactly! I knew about its presence here since it had been for this very same chest my backstabbing First Mate Barbossa had viciously overthrown me from my legitimate command of the _Black Pearl_. Learning about that stashed gold prompted old Hector to set my own sailors against me, apart from Bootstrap Bill. But Barbossa paid an accurate price for his treason, since him and his men remained cursed until I've managed to heroically lift their "living-death" status years afterwards, with a little help from Will and his future wife. The Chest of Cortez and its poisonous contents have remained on this island since our scuffle, forgotten by everyone but me. So I thought the best way to deal with the _Conqueror_'s crew would be to split it fifty-fifty: about half of the men lured to go on the island, while the rest of them waited on the brig."

"But what was the use of showing Red Hand Pete and his men the Chest of Cortez?" asked Ammand.

"Mate, do you think such a bunch of idiots would have remained stoically indifferent in front of a chest stuffed with gold? Of course not! As soon as those blockheads got their greedy paws on the treasure, they went deaf about Pete's orders and I needed to go back to the brig without having any unsatisfied people at my heels. So while they were distracted about the riches, I ran back to the beach, sabotaged one of the longboats and jumped on the _Conqueror_ using a clever invention of mine – another one. But there is a bonus with my plan: those men currently calling from the beach are going to have a nice surprise tonight, by courtesy of the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow!"

"What do you mean?"

"These yelling imbeciles have filled their pockets with cursed gold: therefore, **they are cursed**. They just don't know it yet; but the moonlight will reveal their new condition and believe me, it won't be a pretty sight. They are now immortals unable to feel or taste anything, and they will spend their time showing their bare bones under the moon while vainly hoping for a passing ship to rescue them. This curse can be lifted only if the thieves' blood is sprinkled over the Chest of Cortez, holding the complete lot of the eight hundred and eighty-two Aztecan coins. Pete's men had a subsequent dip in the water after your gunners have blown out their longboat and, well… some of the gold they have stolen must be lost on the seabed. I wish those greedy pigs good luck in learning the way to end the curse, and in finding all the missing coins anytime soon. They'll rue the day they have ever laid a finger on my friend!"

Ammand looked at the pirates on _Isla de Muerta_ and then at Jack, back and forth.

"My word! I didn't know you were so crafty, _Serçe_!"

"Oh, those men are doomed not only by their greed, but also by their brutality towards Will. You see, when Red Hand Pete selected the twelve sailors who would accompany him to find the Dead Man's Chest, it was obvious that coward would chose the worst crewmembers for his bodyguards. Well, amongst them were the ones who had thoroughly enjoyed hearing the kid screaming in pain for days. You should have seen their ugly grins every time Will's torture sessions were mentioned… it would have been enough to make you puke your guts out," concluded Jack with an unusual steel-like quality in his voice.

The Corsair stared at his guest one last time, and then he made up his mind: he certainly didn't feel very enthusiastic at the thought of welcoming on his galley a bunch of cursed pirates… especially ones who had enjoyed the torments of Master Bootstrap's son, to boot!

"I won't compromise the safety of my galley and my men for a bunch of jackals. Yusuf, haul the sheets and stand out to sea! We're leaving this place."

"_Evet, Kaptan!_ (Aye, Captain)"

Orders were shouted, men ran in every direction. The _Seref_ slowly distanced itself from _Isla de Muerta_ and its unwilling new inhabitants, who kept on yelling desperate insults but to no avail. In the next minutes, the grappling lines were cut while the dead and wounded men were transported inside the ship's hull. The masts were cleared up and a favorable wind filled the sails, making the use of oars pointless; gunners cleaned the cannons and secured the stock of gunpowder barrels in prevision of another fight. Swords, pistols and muskets were retrieved by armourers while sailors threw buckets of water on the main deck's planks to wash away the blood and gore.

In this flurry of activity, no one paid attention to Bill Turner and his cargo; Jack looked around the _Seref_ in case if, per chance, a flagon of rum had escaped the wreckage and was floating on the water, but once more his hopes were crushed and he was left with a powerful thirst. His throat was hurting him as if some salt from Davy Jones' Locker had been stuffed inside it, and the little impromptu drink he had in the cavern was long gone.

"Why is there never rum when you need it?" grumbled the ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_. They really ought to attack the next ship crossing their path, just to investigate its holds in case if there was some rum. Whoever heard of celebrating a pirate victory without this indispensable alcoholic beverage, anyway?

"Jack?" called out Bill Turner.

Sparrow shook himself out of his reverie: there was a more urgent matter than looking for rum and it was finding some help for Will. Ammand's cloak was protecting the kid's injuries, but he still looked awfully pale and frail. There was also a question Bill longed to ask Jack, but he was too afraid of the answer. Finally, struggling to find his words, the elder Turner said:

"Jack, while you were aboard the _Conqueror_, did you manage to learn if… Like, do you know if Red Hand Pete, his men or his torturer have… I mean, Will has been their prisoner for almost a week, and it would have given those bastards plenty of time to… to… After you've freed him, did Will tell you if he had been…"

Bootstrap was too horrified to put into words the dreaded question, but Jack could read in those clear blue eyes what exactly was tormenting his former shipmate. He smiled gently, and he answered:

"Bill, your son hasn't been raped."

"Oh, thanks goodness! Are you sure of it?"

"Aye; I admit to have feared this ignominy would be inflicted on our William. But after Red Hand Pete had swallowed my ridiculous story about me helping him to find the Dead Man's Chest with my magical compass, he showed me how he had chained your son: simply by burying him waist-deep in a crate full with soil!"

"Soil?" repeated Bill Turner, blanching at the news. "But Will cannot step foot on land!"

"Correct, because otherwise it causes him great pain and the loss of his powers – which helps to explain why Kraken-breath Jones was so frightened about the mere mention of going ashore. Red Hand Pete used that information to cripple William, but he was also afraid his prisoner might regain his powers one way or another. That's why Pete strictly forbade his men to unearth your son. That dirt-filled crate must have felt like an iron maiden for Will, crushing his legs days and nights, but paradoxically it was also protecting him from sexual abuse."

Bill lightly stroked his son's face, silently thanking the Heavens for sparing Will from this kind of abomination. Then, he asked:

"How are we going to tend to his wounds? I don't want to carry Will to the lower deck, according to Yusuf it looks like a slaughterhouse down there. He suggested me to look after him in his Captain's cabin, but…"

"Ah, yes, I've thought about this, too. There is never a minute of peace for my exceptional brains, savvy? I know Ammand would let us use his quarters for your son to rest, no doubts about it but frankly, Bill, I think the best medicine for Will would be to bring him back to the _Flying Dutchman_ as soon as possible."

"The _Dutchman_?"

"Aye. Like it or not, for the next five years or so Will is linked to his ship until his monopolizing soul-ferry duty is over – thanks to the mutual faithfulness he shares with Lizzie. Subsequently, his well-being determines the state of his vessel, and vice versa. That's why the _Dutchman_ was such a disaster after Davy Jones had forfeited his mission out of rage. So I truly think that if we rush back to your ship, William would somehow "feel" that he's safely back on his board; his strength would return and it would help greatly in healing his wounds."

Bootstrap Bill considered Jack's words: deep down, he knew his friend was right but unfortunately, there was a problem with this plan that his sharp mind hadn't thought about.

"Jack, the _Dutchman_ must be still anchored nearby the island of _Tres Rocas_, with a disoriented crew trying to repair the damages caused by Red Hand Pete's guns after he had captured Will. Even if our men have kept their minds focused enough to consolidate the ship, they still won't be able to sail it without their leader. The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain, remember? That was Davy Jones' motto, and our crew still firmly believes it. Will had told us time and time again that it was only a way for Jones to put pressure on his slaves; I am fully convinced about it, but I cannot vouch for the rest of our men. After Will's abduction, some of our men's minds went blank, like zombies!"

"Well, I guess years of service under Jones' command would turn anyone's brains into bouillabaisse. Can't blame your guys for being temporarily unable to think – trust me, it's a great feeling knowing this kind of thing can never happen to me!"

"Jack, you don't understand! Our men cannot sail the _Dutchman_ so it means we have to go back to _Tres Rocas_ and it will take us about four days' worth of navigation to go there, maybe even five. William is too weak to endure this trip!"

"Well, mate, I guess we'd better head for _Tres Rocas_ without wasting time, not even stopping to get some rum – alas! I'll speak to Ammand at once and he'll understand the urgency of Will's situation."

But all of a sudden, a flash of white light exploded in the sky, effectively blinding all the men aboard the Turkish galley in spite of the sun. Exclamations, cries of fear rang out and Jack briefly thought they had been struck by lightening, or maybe St Elmo's fire, even if this idea didn't seem very logical: there wasn't a cloud on sight! Seconds later, the light disappeared and the Barbary Corsairs looked blinkingly at each other, wondering what had just happened.

"_Serce_, what's going on?" asked the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea.

"Frankly, Ammand, I don't have the slightest idea. All I can say is, this new circumstance has nothing whatsoever to do with me…"

But before Jack could start another one of his interminable speeches, he casted a glance on the port side of the galley and a strangled sound escaped from his mouth.

"Jack, what is it?" asked Bootstrap, fearing another attack from an enemy ship.

"This is… incredible. Unbelievable… colossal... Mind-blowing, absolutely flabbergasting! This is stupendously stupefying! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum… Shower me timbers, knock the man out of his boots and socks, me hearties, yo ho… No, no, this is simply beyond belief, making it impossible for us simple mortals to comprehend it… Or we're simply having a case of collective hallucination… Why is the rum always gone? Unless this is a mirage due to wishful thinking; yes, that is a valuable hypothesis, or maybe this is an accidental breach in the time and space dimension…"

"JACK!" roared Bill, reaching his patience's limits.

"Bill, you're never going to believe me and that's too bad, but… the _Dutchman_ is here!"

TBC…


	26. Farewell, Captain Ammand

**Disclaimer: **still the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- In Latin, the hexameter "_Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxiliis, cur, quomodo, quando?"_ can be translated in English by: _"Who, what, where, by which means, why, how and when?"_

- To Ana: when is Will going to wake up? Can't answer your question right now, it would spoil the surprise! ;-)

- To Matteic: _merci pour la blague!_

- To Smithy: well, our favorite William certainly needs medical help… You'll see some hurt/comfort in the next chapter; I hope you'll like it! :oD

- This chapter is dedicated to Calathiel of Mirkwood.

* * *

**Chapter ****26: Farewell, Captain Ammand**

_Aboard the _Seref_…_

The news was so astonishing Bootstrap Bill could have – almost – dropped Will on the planks of the _Seref_'s deck. The _Flying Dutchman_ was here, in these waters? But that was impossible!

"Jack, are you mad?" asked the elder Turner.

"Silly question, Master Bootstrap!" said Ammand with a barely-audible snicker.

But Jack took no notice of the Corsair's allusion about him having a mental illness, too engrossed by the extraordinary sight which had appeared out of nowhere, just on the port side of the galley. Unless his hawk-eyes were playing a trick on him from a severe case of rum deprivation, Jack couldn't retract his words. Otherwise, he'd be lying and he didn't do that... well, sometimes he would, but not very often… less often than people would think, anyway!

"I am quite lucid and I'm not joking, Bill," said Jack, "so you'd better enjoy this very rare moment of seriousness from the great Captain Jack Sparrow while it lasts. The _Flying Dutchman_ is right here and I don't have the slightest idea about the _Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxiliis, cur, quomodo, quando_ and all that sort of things. But if you are doubtful about my statement, you can get a proof by looking at the reactions of Ammand's men; they are as stupefied as I am!"

Bill looked around and effectively, the rough and tough Barbary Corsairs had stunned expressions on their faces; they were muttering words in Turkish and pointed their index fingers at the port side of the galley, acting like children seeing an elephant for the very first time. None of them had had the idea to grab a weapon or to ask theirs officers for what to do. Even Yusuf seemed rooted on the spot. Only Ammand, standing on his dignity, was keeping an impassible attitude: whatever had appeared nearby his galley, it hadn't impressed him.

Bill Turner quickly made up his mind: he gathered Will and Ammand's cloak in his arms and stood on his feet, anxious to see for himself what that last turn of events was about. Seconds later, he had to admit Jack had been telling the truth: the _Flying Dutchman_ was indeed here!

But like its Captain, the ghost ship wasn't in a good state and the damages caused by Red Hand Pete's guns were still apparent: some of the yard-arms were missing, the sails were torn and the hull had been clumsily repaired; the upper deck was an absolute mess and traces of gunpowder had blackened the masts. In fact, it looked as if the _Dutchman_ had barely escaped from a boarding lead by the most bloodthirsty pirates of the Caribbean. But it wasn't its sad, crippled state that prevailed in the ghost ship: it was a feeling of distress emanating from it, as if the vessel and its crewmembers had been desperately waiting for something… or for _**someone**_… to come back. The vague silhouettes of the men aboard had a sluggish gait, like they were sick or unable to think; and the _Dutchman_ looked frail, in a state of abandonment until it would reach a complete disintegration.

Jack cast a brief glance at Will, snuggled up in his father's arms. He remembered Bill telling him at the Faithful Bride how awkward the crew had been after Will's abduction. Just a few minutes ago, the older man had expressed his doubts about their crewmembers keeping their ideas clear enough to look after the damages, and it seemed he had been right. During the Turners' absence, the _Dutchman_'s shipmates had tried to maintain discipline so they could do the necessary repairs, but apparently they hadn't been very successful!

"But how in the world did they manage to find us?" whispered Bootstrap Bill, unable to believe his own eyes. "How have they been able to sail, with the ship in such a deplorable condition?"

The elder Turner may not have a clue about the _Dutchman_'s phenomenal apparition, as well as the Turkish crew, the six Barbossa exiled and Wang Tao, but Jack had a smile at the corners of his mobile mouth. He of all people could understand plainly _**who**_ had made this peculiar ship "materialize" so close to the _Seref_!

"_Ah, Captain Jack Sparrow, there are definitively no limits to your brilliance!" _thought the silver-tongued pirate, praising himself for the hundredth time since he had awakened up in the morning.

To get a confirmation of his private and secret theory, Jack climbed on the galley's rail, holding on one of the ratlines to steady his wobbly frame, and then he called out loud while waving his arm:

"SHIP AHOY! Yoo-hoo! The _Flying Dutchman_! Yoo-hoo! Is there anyone who wants the honor to talk to me? This is the opportunity of a lifetime! Wake up, you bunch of sleepy heads! It's the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow here!"

Ammand looked at Jack with rounded eyes, while the rest of his crew gaped at their Captain's guest: why was he gesticulating like an idiot on the _Seref_'s rail, yelling incomprehensible words – apart for Ammand and Yusuf, who understood English – and calling out to this phantom ship? Its apparition had been scary enough; who knew what kind of ghosts or demons were aboard? But the man nicknamed "_Serçe_" by their commander acted as if he was welcoming old friends who had promised him a whole barrel of rum!

* * *

After a long while, some slow movement could be observed aboard the _Dutchman_ and finally a tall, staggering man in a torn shirt appeared at the rail: the fellow looked like he had fought ten rounds against the British Navy's boxing champion and lost!

"Cap'tain Sparrow? Izzat you?" asked the man with a slurred voice.

"Maccus!" exclaimed Jack, recognizing the former member of Jones' crew. "Your sense of observation is keen, even if your attire isn't, you ol' hammerhead-shark personification! Yes it is I, the wondrous, extraordinary, undefeated and all-around victorious Captain Jack Sparrow. Don't be fooled by imitations! Or, should I say, don't get mistaken by my modified looks and my forced soberness: the rum may be lacking, but the brains are still full of juice, savvy?"

"Cap'tain Sparrow… but whatayu doin' here?" asked Maccus, blinking his eyes and speaking at the costs of an enormous effort.

"Shouldn't it be I who is supposed to ask this question? Oh, how I hate it when people steal my lines! I really should get them patented – say, that's an idea! Anyway, Maccus, we are the ones surprised to see the _Flying Dutchman_ here, especially since a minute ago these waters were absolutely empty apart from swimming sea creatures and fragments of a recently-sunken brig. Care to give me an elaborated explanation?"

"Beats me, Cap'tain Sparrow! One moment we were tryin' to repair nearby _Tres Rocas_; and then a big flash of white light fell on us and the next thing we know, we are here. A bit of luck everyone was aboard when it happened!"

Jack had a half-smile at Maccus' words: the man may be absolutely confused about their brusque change of location, but for a sharp mind like the former Captain of the _Black Pearl_'s, things couldn't be clearer… His secret theory had just been proven right but it wasn't the right moment to explain to Bootstrap Bill, Ammand or his men what had happened.

"Cap'tain Sparrow… have you seen our First Mate?" asked Maccus. "We were attacked by a man pretending to be named Peterson and he damaged our ship before abducting Cap'tain Turner… Mister Turner went to Tortuga to ask for your help, did you see him?"

"He certainly did, my good man! Bill came to see me in Tortuga; with my marvelous plans and a little help from Ammand here and his Barbary Corsairs, we have been able to vanquish the despicable perpetrators and to retrieve your Captain!" said Jack with a flourish of his arm in the direction of the Turners.

Maccus' eyes opened wide at the sight of Bill Turner, carrying their unconscious commander. Their young Captain had been found and rescued. Life was back for them!

"Omygosh… JIMMY, JOEL! COME AND SEE, QUICK! THE CAPTAIN IS BACK!" yelled Maccus as much as his state could allow him. "Jacobs, McStraggle, Smith, Drinkwater! Come on you lot; wake up, the Captain is here! Roberts, come and see this! Diego, Sam, hurry!"

Loud moans could be heard from the _Dutchman_, increasing the Turkish crew's wariness about their unexpected encounter. The laments sounded like ghosts' sighs or, even worse, desperate groans of damned souls!

But how could the Corsairs know those cries were coming from sailors who had been completely disoriented for days, brutally deprived of the young man who was their leading officer and also the living embodiment of their hopes? William Turner Jr. was redemption and fairness, a beacon of light chasing away Jones' evil shadow that had reigned on the _Flying Dutchman_ for too long. His kidnapping had plunged the crew back into the darkness of their fears and almost ninety percent of the crew had fallen ill out of desperation or hopelessness. Only Maccus, Jimmy Legs the bo'sun and Joel McCarthy the carpenter had been able to keep their minds clear during Will's absence, but at the price of a ceaseless effort.

At least, their woes were over: Captain Turner had been found! He was obviously wounded, broken by his abduction and his captivity, but he was aboard a galley and so close to his men. Soon he'll be back aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ and this awful nightmare, where they had all thought they were loosing their minds, would be over!

"JOEL! JIMMY! Get the men up and about, they have to see this!" yelled Maccus. "Mister Turner and Sparrow have retrieved Captain Turner! We have our Captain back, guys!"

Finally, after much coaxing and a few shoves from the bo'sun and the carpenter, some of the shipmates clumsily got on their feet to drag their heavy carcasses towards the rail. To the unaware eye, those men acted like demented persons: they were raving, crying, moving uncoordinatedly and looking fearfully at invisible things; the Turkish Corsairs were becoming more and more nervous, and some of them were muttering the words _"Uçuşy hollandali"_ (Flying Dutchman) after having recognized the phantom vessel, thus increasing the panic.

But the _Dutchman_'s shipmates didn't give a damn about how they acted. Guided by Maccus, they looked at Bill Turner standing tall on the _Seref_'s deck and holding the only guarantor of their sanity. Lucidity slowly came back in their minds as hope was renewed in their hearts, and they started calling out in the direction of the galley:

"Cap'tain? O-O-Our Cap'tain?"

"Gosh, is it possible?"

"Mister T-T-Turner, he has… He has… He got the Cap'tain back!"

"Mister Turner, p-please! Come q-quickly! We must have o-our young Captain… The _Dutchman _must have a Captain…"

"The ship must have our C-Captain… Mister Turner!"

"Cap'tain Turner! P-P-Please come back! Oh, please…"

"Ready a longboat!" said Maccus. "Let's get him back amongst us. C'mon, guys, let's go!"

But his orders fell on deaf ears: engrossed by the sight of Will carried by his father, the _Dutchman_'s sailors just stood there, stretching their arms as if they wanted to reach out for their commander in spite of the distance separating both ships, and moaning over and over again: _"The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain… We must have a Captain…"_. Maccus shook his head; those traumatized men weren't in shape to pay any attention to his orders, and Jack quickly realized it would amount to nothing if they'd ever wait for the Turners' crew to regain their senses.

"Ahem, Ammand… I think it would be best for everyone if we didn't wait for initiatives coming from the _Dutchman_'s men. Bill and his son have to get back to their ship as soon as possible but your men don't look overly enthusiastic at the idea of getting closer to our unexpected visitors; consequently I will give my friends a lift in my mighty dinghy, _The Sparrow Hawk_."

"You're going aboard the _Flying Dutchman_,_ Serçe_? I thought it was impossible for living men to go there, unless they were part of the crew."

"In normal circumstances, yes, it would be true. But this vessel isn't exactly right, tight and shipshape for the moment so this rule can be temporarily overlooked; besides, I am Captain Jack Sparrow and I can do anything, savvy?"

Ammand harrumphed loudly, expressing his doubts about the validity of Jack's declaration, and then he turned towards his First Mate:

"Yusuf, get _Serçe_'s dinghy afloat; he's going to the strange ship with Master Bootstrap and their…"friend", who had been injured by Red Hand Pete."

"At once, _Kaptan_," answered Yusuf; the man discreetly winked at his leader to show he perfectly knew who the wounded man's real identity was; the First Mate was gifted with the ability to understand without long explanations. But before Yusuf could carry on with his orders, a loud shout followed by harsh words rang out loud across the _Seref_. Ammand and Jack turned around, and Bill looked up: one of the pirates on the upper deck was vehemently arguing in his mother tongue, pointing at the _Flying Dutchman_ and then to his commander, back and forth.

"Who is this suspicious character who makes all these incongruous noises?" asked Jack, annoyed.

"It's Bilal, the worst guy of my crew," answered Ammand, his intense golden gaze hardening at the sight of the troublemaker while keeping a calm facade. "Like we've agreed, I haven't told my men about Master Bootstrap's son or his functions; I've only informed them about attacking Red Hand Pete for retribution of his Istanbul betrayal. But my sailors must have identified the _Dutchman_ by now – there aren't many ships of this kind in the world. Bilal isn't only complaining about how we have fought without getting any kind of booty, but he's also scared out of his mind by your friends' ship. Now, he is trying to convince the crew that I've carelessly lead them into a trap and soon, we'd be attacked by demons or other ugly creatures."

"That's preposterous! Hasn't he heard about the _Flying Dutchman_ regaining its true purpose after Davy Jones fell in the drink?"

"Aye, well, unfortunately there are still a few pirates – the most superstitious of them – who still firmly believe the ghost ship is piloted by skeletons and his apparition is a bad omen to all vessels crossing its path. Bilal hadn't heard about the _Dutchman_ being freed from its cursed corruption and he wasn't part of my crew when the maelstrom battle happened."

Jack grimaced: there had never been any living skeletons walking on the _Dutchman_'s planks, just a hideous bunch of freaks terrorized by Jones during his tyrannical reign. However, there had been this kind of bare-boned characters aboard the _Black Pearl_, after its usurping leader had carelessly gotten his hands on a chest full of Aztecan gold coins. So the _Pearl_'s curse was getting mixed with the _Dutchman_'s legend in the pirates' tales, thus muddling even more the legend of the unique Captain Jack Sparrow. He definitively needed to write down his memoirs, otherwise people would end up in confusing his outstanding personality with Davy Jones: that was a fate worst than death!

"Captain?" called Bill, who had overheard the conversation between the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea and Sparrow.

Ammand cast a furious glance at Bilal, who was getting told off in uncertain terms by Aydin, the quartermaster; then he calmly walked towards the elder Turner who was sitting again on the galley's main deck, carefully cradling his son.

"Aye, Master Bootstrap?"

"I've heard what you were saying to Jack and… well, I think **this** will soothe your crewmembers' minds," said Bill while slipping into Ammand's hand a heavy-looking leather pouch. The Pirate Lord of the Black Sea opened his eyes wide: it was the bag of diamonds Master Bootstrap had promised him, after they had concluded their alliance back in Tortuga.

"_Çok teşekkür ederim_ (Thank you very much!)"

"A deal is a deal, Captain Ammand," said the older man with a kind smile. "And I can't thank you enough for your help and your support in finding Will."

The Corsair nodded gratefully before standing up, facing his scared or disgruntled men and looking at the agitator straight in the eyes:

"_Do you have a complaint about the way I command you, Bilal?"_ asked Ammand in Turkish.

"_I do, Kaptan!" _shot the grumpy sailor._ "Our ship has been damaged in the attack, half our comrades are wounded, the only thing you've retrieved from the _Conqueror_ is an injured man and now, we have the visit of a ghost ship filled with lunatics! What in the world kind of a stupid plan have you made with the bird-man and the tall guy?"_

"_If you had wanted a life without risks or dangers, you should have chosen a carpet-trading business, Bilal. You have a great talent to argue, you would have done wonders! But you are obviously not cut for a pirating career, since you are unable to see beyond the end of your nose."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_The ghost ship is here for Master Bootstrap and his protégé. Whatever they will do aboard the _Dutchman_ is of no concerns to us. As for booty, I wouldn't have leaded my men to a boarding without being sure about the existence of a treasure, you idiot! There was one aboard the _Conqueror_, the private fortune of Red Hand Pete. He had gathered it during all his years of backstabbing and pillaging, and he certainly didn't have the intention to share it with his men. That's why he kept his money on him at all times, to be absolutely sure none of his sailors would find it by accident. I picked it up after I rammed my sword through Red Hand Pete's body, and it will largely compensate for all the losses we have suffered during the fight. Me hearties, this is my privilege and my pleasure to present you… our fortune!"_

Ammand untied the pouch's laces with dexterity and let a cascade of diamonds fall in the palm of his hand. A collective "Ooooh!" of astonishment was heard, and the Barbary Corsairs looked with incredulous eyes at the stones shining under the sun in a display of multicolored-lights. The gems were of various sizes and shapes, but their number was incredibly high: Ammand had barely poured some in his hand and it was already enough to have the galley repaired entirely!

Ammand had obfuscated a little about the diamonds' origins, but he didn't feel like explaining to his men that Master Bootstrap had this fortune on him the whole time he was aboard the _Seref_. Besides, he needed to reinforce his authority on his crew, momentarily imperiled by Bilal's accusations. And, to quote that impossible _Serçe_, why fight when you have leverage?

"_Yes, men," _said the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea._ "We are richer beyond our wildest dreams! There are diamonds here for every one of us. We can go back to Turkey, settle down in a quiet place and live the rest of our days without working. We can give up our pirating lives and no one would be the wiser – especially not the authorities, the East India Company lackeys or the Janissaries. These stones are the reason why we sunk the _Conqueror_; they are the gate for our new future. What says ye, men? Have I done a good job leading you?"_

"_Long live Captain Ammand!"_ roared old Tahir, waving his sword.

"_Hurrah! Long live Captain Ammand!"_ yelled in unison all the Barbary Corsairs, throwing in the air hats, empty pistols and even some footwear out of joy. Finally, after years of dangers and fights on the Seven Seas, they were all fabulously rich! Bill Turner's diamonds would provide those men long years of happiness and security, for them and the families they have left in Turkey. To think they would end up in clover, instead of rotting away at the bottoms of the ocean or locked up in a cell, awaiting their execution… That was as wonderful as the sudden apparition of the _Flying Dutchman_!

After a long moment of cheers, exclamations of joy, praises to their commander and loud blessings, the men finally quieted down and went back to their tasks, directed by Yusuf and Aydin. Bilal was sent downstairs with the instructions to _"clean up the mess in the surgeon's room, left by the two Barbossa blockheads"_ and the troublemaker couldn't do anything else but to shut up his mouth and obey.

Jack had a sardonic laugh: "I don't know a word of Turkish so I haven't been able to comprehend what you were saying earlier. But judging from your men's happiness, I daresay you have efficiently muzzled the belligerent brute with your display of a suddenly-acquired wealth!"

"You guessed right, _Serçe_. Bilal is a good fighter, but too argument-prone. Nonetheless, he'll get his share of the diamonds; I can just hope this little demonstration have taught him a lesson."

"Ah, no one can argue with success. I have been proactive in that area and consequently, there isn't a single being in the whole world that can prove I've been wrong a day of my life!"

Ammand's curled mustache moved slightly after the Corsair mumbled the word "_aptal_" (idiot) between his teeth, before saying:

"You'd better gather your gear and your friends,_ Serçe_: your boat will be ready soon."

* * *

Moments later, the _Sparrow Hawk_ was floating happily, dancing on the waves while waiting for its passengers. After hearing they wouldn't have to get any closer to the _Flying Dutchman_, the Barbary Corsairs had calmed down a great deal and they had obeyed their _Kaptan_'s orders without any more debates. It had been decided that Jack, Bill and Will would first use the dinghy to embark on the _Flying Dutchma_n. Then Marty, Cotton, Pintel, Ragetti, the two ex-Royal Marines and Wang Tao would leave the _Seref_ as well: the six sailors had agreed to serve under Captain Sparrow's command and Ammand wasn't eager to keep the Chinese spy-stowaway aboard his galley after the fight against Red Hand Pete and Long was over.

The _Sparrow Hawk_ would be too small to contain eight men; consequently, Ammand had agreed to leave an extra longboat so _Serçe_'s new crewmembers would sail more comfortably. Marty, Cotton and Wang Tao would take the dinghy, the four other argument-prone pirates the longboat and they would have to wait until Jack rejoined them, after he'd finish some business with the Turners.

Jack had shredded the last remnants of his "John Silver" personae and he had happily regained his tricorn hat, his colored sash, his weapons belt and the elaborated rings were back on his fingers. He had even managed to put on his trademark kohl-makeup on his eyes and the various trinkets in his hair, in spite of the missing dreadlocks and braids. It would take months before Jack's mane would grown back to its former length but he didn't care about that: once he had saved Will's life by sacrificing his own bid for immortality, so a few shortened strands of hair was a small price to pay for rescuing his little brother a second time.

"You look almost like your former self, _Serçe_," noted Ammand after Jack had returned on the upper deck.

"Alas, the finishing touches are missing – in the shape of drops of Jamaican liquid gold also known as rum, which is far more precious than all the riches of the Caribbean. Unfortunately, those _Conqueror_ gluttons have drank it all, along with that cheap tafia Red Hand Pete used to provide his men. How can someone get drunk on such a weak beverage, I'll never know! It's barely good enough to enhance the tea of a doddering old lady. Oh well, maybe there will be some rum left aboard the _Flying Dutchman_?"

"Can't you think of anything else but drinking?"

"How can I, since rum is the indispensable fuel of my intelligence? Without it, the brains of the fantastic Captain Jack Sparrow would turn into a jellyfish _purée_ and it would be a terrible loss to the pirating universe, savvy?"

Ammand rolled his eyes heavenwards and let out a loud sigh, and then he held out his hand to Jack:

"You are the most aggravating and irritating person of the world! You would make a hermit loose his patience and you could be crowned King of Madmen, but I have to admit you know how to pay your debts a hundredfold. _Geçmiş olsun_ (let bygones be bygones) and good luck to you, _Kaptan Serçe_!"

"Thanks, Ammand! The same to you," answered Jack, shaking the Corsair's hand. It was the first time the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea had called him "Captain" since their association in Tortuga.

"But it seems to me you've gotten the short side of the deal," pursued Ammand. "I got my revenge and the diamonds; Master Bootstrap got his son back; what is there left for you?"

The gold-toothed pirate smiled like a wolf. Beneath his shirt was the heavy leather pouch he had retrieved after making his spectacular exit from the _Isla de Muerta_'s cavern; the rainy-day money he had dumped in the underwater lagoon years ago, after vanquishing Hector Barbossa over the Chest of Cortez. His very own cash, the one he had been thinking about in Tortuga just before Bootstrap Bill had begged him for his help. Rescuing Will had given Jack the opportunity to regain his personal money… talk about combining business with pleasure!

"That's for me to know and for you to find out, Ammand!" said Jack with a wink, and then he climbed over the _Seref_'s rail to a waiting _Sparrow Hawk_.

The Turkish Corsair shook his head, definitively renouncing to understand what the scruffiest pirate of the Caribbean wanted to mean; it would probably drive him crazy, anyway! Instead, he turned towards Master Bootstrap, who was still seated on the deck: the burly-shaped man hadn't asked for assistance in getting Will down to Jack's dinghy and somehow, Ammand had guessed the elder Turner wouldn't want anyone to touch his son, not even for helping him. A normal reaction from a man after he had recovered his kidnapped child!

"Master Bootstrap, _Serçe_ has his dinghy ready to bring you to the _Flying Dutchman_."

"Thank you again for your help, Captain Ammand. Jack and I would never have succeeded in freeing Will without your ship and your men. I don't know how I will ever reimburse this debt, but I swear I will find a way."

"You've already repaid me, Master Bootstrap. A bagful of diamonds, remember? We are now the richest pirates of the Black Sea and it is rare, in our profession, to end our days in the lap of luxury. I also thank you for giving me the opportunity to avenge my cousin Sami; I was convinced Red Hand Pete, that toothless shark, would make a mockery of my wrath forever."

Bill Turner and Ammand shook hands vigorously, and then the older man stood up with Will in his arms, still wrapped in the embroidered cloak. He made the gesture to take the garment off his son to give it back to its owner, but Ammand stopped him:

"Please keep the cloak, Master Bootstrap. Right now, young _Kaptan_ Turner needs it more than I do!"

Bill's blue eyes irradiated that strange light again, and he gave a grateful smile to the gruff-voiced Corsair. He knew Ammand would have lent him the cloak even if he hadn't given the man sufficient means to buy a hundred more of them.

"Thank you for your generosity, Captain. You are an honorable man, and that is rare amongst pirates."

"Well, otherwise I wouldn't have chosen the word "_Seref" _to name my ship… it means _"Honor"_ in Turkish."

Ammand chuckled slightly at Master Bootstrap's delighted expression; then the elder Turner gathered Will and, in a swift movement, he hoisted him over one of his large shoulders. It wasn't the most comfortable position for an injured man, but his father needed both his hands free to climb down the galley's hull to join Jack on his dinghy. William sighed at the jolting and it broke Bill's heart for the thousandth time since his son' abduction, but they had to get back to the _Flying Dutchman_ at all haste. A good thing the embroidered cloak would efficiently protect Will against accidental splashes of salty water; otherwise it would be incredibly painful on his open wounds.

"Take good care of him, Master Bootstrap."

"I will, Captain Ammand. Thank you again for your help."

Bill Turner promptly climbed down the Seref's keel using a rope ladder, and within minutes he was seated on one of the _Sparrow Hawk_'s benches with his priceless treasure in his arms. Jack simply nodded to the older man and he silently headed his dinghy in the direction of the _Dutchman_.

Ammand watched as the trio sailed away from the _Seref_. It was strange but, in a way, he'd miss _Serçe_'s exuberant chatter: as exasperating as the man could be, he was also vastly entertaining, an escape artist and a genius when it came to confuse the enemy. Master Bootstrap's quiet, strong presence had been an asset in their plot against Red Hand Pete – especially in keeping the Barbossa idiots under control – and a good man in a fight. Ammand also regretted he hadn't had the opportunity to talk to _Kaptan_ Turner: to suffer unspeakable pains for protecting the whole world from a Davy Jones' copycat, this young man had to be of an exceptional nature.

"_Farewell, infernal _Kaptan Serçe_, may you drench your thirst for rum at least," _thought Ammand._ "Farewell Master Bootstrap, may your big heart be blessed. Farewell _Okyanusyprens_, Prince of the Ocean, may you be rewarded for your altruistic actions."_

Ammand looked up one last time and he saw the _Sparrow Hawk_ had reached the ghost ship; Master Bootstrap was getting ready to climb aboard with his son, while _Serçe_ was steadying his dinghy…

"The _Dutchman_ has its Captain back," concluded the Pirate Lord of the Black Sea.

TBC…


	27. Devoted father

**Disclaimer: **still the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- To Candi: I did mean to write "braids", LOL. Thank you for spotting that mistake.

- To Ana: yes, yes, yes, I do! :oD

- "_The coach and the fly"_ is a fable by French poet Jean de la Fontaine (1621 – 1695)

- The medicinal castor oil was employed as an antiseptic in the first surgical dressings (from Wikipedia).

- Wang Tao's proverb is from _"The thirty-six stratagems"_.

- The _sauce béarnaise_ is made of egg yolk, shallot, vinegar and butter.

- This chapter contains references to my stories _"The long ordeal of Bootstrap Bill"_ and _"A baby boy"_.

- Heavy smarm ahoy! Ye be warned! ;-)

* * *

**Chapter ****27: Devoted father**

_Aboard the _Flying Dutchman_…_

"_Well, __yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!" _thought the amazing, extraordinary, etc. Captain Jack Sparrow. _"Sure my own crew didn't react like __**this**__ after I've jumped from a cliff, following my daring escape from the hangman's noose in Port Royal!"_

The ex-commander of the _Black Pearl_ had secured his dinghy to the _Dutchman_'s hull before following Bootstrap. The burly-shaped man had climbed over the rail without waiting for him, holding Will with one arm; but Jack hadn't taken offence of his friend's hastiness: he knew Bill was in a hurry to carry his son to the only place he could recover from his injuries.

Ammand had been right earlier, when he had mentioned that living persons couldn't go on the ghost ship unless they were part of the crew. But Jack wasn't worried about obtaining permission to climb aboard since he benefited from a unique status: he was Captain Jack Sparrow and he could do anything, of course, but he was also the only man who had wormed his way out of the infamous Locker, thanks to his sharp wits added with a touch of madness; consequently, he was the Resurrected Captain Jack Sparrow who could do anything! Besides, the ghost ship – like its crew - wasn't in its right state so the prevailing rule about living passengers was temporarily on hold.

Jack climbed over the Dutchman's rail as well and prudently stepped foot on the upper deck's planks: as expected, he didn't feel anything strange happening to him – so he was actually allowed to hop aboard! He had been right once again!

However, the flabbergasting sight on the _Dutchman_'s main deck made Jack forget to compliment himself, thus transgressing his own tradition: he had expected the ghost ship's crew to manifest joy at the return of their young Captain, but certainly not like this!

As soon as Bill Turner had stepped on the planks, his grievously wounded son in his arms, the seamen had clumsily gotten on their feet to gather around their First Mate. They seemed desperate to touch Will's face or hair, or even the rich embroidered cloak he was wrapped into for just a second, to be sure their commander was indeed back amongst them. In other circumstances, it would have been heart-warming to see men greeting their abducted leader. But the _Dutchman_'s sailors were still in deep distress: they were still looking haggard, moaning and crying while reaching out for Will, like drowning men hanging on for dear life at straw wisps.

They acted as if they couldn't live without Will – and that wasn't far from the truth, Jack thought, but their desperate need for their Captain was turning them into hysterical creatures. Their demeanor reminded the scruffy pirate of an evangelist who had come to visit the dregs of Port Royal's society. The man had a reputation for goodness and compassion so all the paupers and crippled wretches had gathered around him for days, following him everywhere in the hopes he would perform a life-changing miracle. Fearing riots, the Port Royal authorities had expulsed the inoffensive evangelist from the island and sent the poor people back to their gutters.

But that dreadful sentence was back on the seamen's lips, repeated over and over again like a demented mantra: "The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain… The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain…"

Bill looked around, getting worried by his men pressing around him. He knew none of the sailors would hurt deliberately hurt Will; but in their fervor to see their Captain, they were preventing him to reach the Great Cabin and give his son some much-needed care. Hope had returned for the _Dutchman_'s crewmembers and some of them were already looking better, but Bootstrap couldn't be delayed in tending to Will!

"The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain… The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain… The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain…"

Bill Turner's heart clenched painfully at those words: the last time he had said them, it was right after Davy Jones' death and his William was lying on the ghost ship's deck, fatally wounded. The only way to save him had been to… No, he couldn't think about that; it wasn't the time to be haunted by the worst souvenir of his life, the one he'd never forgive himself.

"Let me pass, men," said Bootstrap Bill with a hoarse voice. "Our commander is back, but he's been hurt. I'm taking him to the Great Cabin to tend to him. Let me pass, now, will you?"

But the First Mate's pleadings fell on deaf ears. In fact, the _Dutchman_'s crew seemed more and more resolute to stay close to Bill Turner, in their eagerness to touch Will for a second. The mantra was getting louder: "The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain… The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain…"

Jack Sparrow was also getting worried: after all the trouble he went to free his little brother, risking his life a thousand times and more aboard the _Conqueror_ and on _Isla de Muerta_, they couldn't be slowed down by a bunch of sailors loosing their marbles out of joy from getting their Captain back! He grabbed two men by a shoulder and said:

"Workers of the sea? Considering our current situation, I would advise you to get back to your senses pretty promptly and to let Master Turner help your Captain. I can comprehend your enthusiasm at getting your commander back – who wouldn't, the said commander is quite exceptional, but that's normal since he's related to me – but please try to understand that right now, your joy is more an hindrance than a help. Just like the fable of _"The coach and the fly"_, savvy? If you don't know about this classic, I'll be happy to enlighten you; but in short, this isn't the time to act like bothersome buzzing insects. So I would be very grateful if you'd cleared a path to the Great Cabin, where Master Turner would be able to give your Captain some medical attention. As you can guess, capture has taken a great toll on Will and we all want to see him back on his feet, now, don't we? Consequently, please shorten your effusions and step backwards, for your young leader's sake and mine, the incomparable Captain Jack Sparrow. And by the way, I would appreciate if one of you would shake out of his stupor to guide me to the nearest rum stocks aboard this ship; I long for another kind of stupor, the inebriated one!"

Unfortunately, Jack's tirade was as unsuccessful as Bootstrap Bill's pleadings. In fact, the _Dutchman_'s crewmembers congregated more compactly around the elder Turner, grabbing at the embroidered cloak covering Will and shouting even louder: "The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain… The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain…"

* * *

_Nearby __the _Seref_…_

Pintel, Ragetti, Murtogg and Mullroy had taken their places on the longboat spared by Ammand the Corsair. Marty, Cotton and Wang Tao were on the galley's deck, waiting: they had decided that Pintel should be the one to send back the _Sparrow Hawk_ to pick them up, even if the bald pirate didn't seem very eager to get so close to the ghost ship. But they all turned their heads towards _the Flying Dutchman_ at the sound of the loud cries, a scared expression on their faces, except for the Chinese spy/executioner who simply narrowed his eyes. What was going on? It was frightening enough to have to sail so close to a ship with such a dreadful reputation; hearing nonsense words coming from it didn't do anything to soothe the minds of Captain Sparrow's new crewmembers!

"Didja hear that?" asked Ragetti. "What in the name of all scoundrels is happenin' on the _Dutchman_?"

"Aye, what is that rackett? It sounded like the guys onboard are screamin' for a Cap'tain!" said Pintel.

"But young Will is back on the _Dutchman_, and he is their Captain," said Pintel. "So what are they gettin' so upset about?"

"Search me," said his acolyte, shrugging his shoulders. Pintel usually pretended to be the smart one of the bumbling duo but whenever their conversations would mention the ghost ship, he'd run out of ideas. It had taken years for Ragetti to find out the reason of his partner's uneasiness about the _Dutchman_: it was related to Davy Jones' impromptu visit on the _Black Pearl_, years ago. While Jack had been bargaining with the octopus-faced monster, its horrendously distorted crew had surrounded the _Pearl_'s sailors, preventing any attempt of escape or resistance. Pintel had been immobilized by one of Jones' "men" who had held a nasty-looking knife under his throat during the whole time of Sparrow and Jones' discussion, and it had scared the wits out of him.

"What do you think, Mister Wang Tao?" asked Marty.

The Chinaman's intense gaze was fixed on the _Flying Dutchman_, not moving an inch from his bench on the dinghy. Then, he sighed and answered:

"_Remove the firewood from under the cooking pot."_

"Excuse me?" asked the short pirate, looking with rounded eyes at the newest addition to their crew.

"One of the Chaos Stratagems listed in the thirty-six proverbs suggests taking out the leading asset of an adversary to distraught him, just like removing combustible from under a cauldron: the food cannot be cooked, the enemy can't react. By abducting the Honorable Lord Captain Turner, that miserable Red Hand Pete has stolen the Soul Vessel's light and the crew has remained in a state of complete confusion ever since, regressing into the nightmares drilled into their minds by the corrupted "Davee Joon". My guess is Lord Captain Turner's men are desperately happy he is back amongst them."

* * *

_Aboard the _Flying Dutchman_…_

"The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain…"

"Mates, please! Stop it and let me pass!" begged Bill Turner, hugging his William tightly against his chest.

The shipmates were acting like complete lunatics and the big man was getting panicky! Even Maccus, Joel McCarthy and Jimmy Legs the bo'sun seemed to have thrown their authority to the winds and they had joined their comrades in their efforts to touch their Captain as if he was a good-luck charm, but it looked more like a bunch of madmen trying to rip a person apart.

Jack didn't have much luck in reasoning the crewmembers, either. In the background, Bill could hear him vociferating: "If I don't get some cooperation soon, it's going to be unpleasant around here!"

Finally, what was bound to happen finally happened. One of the sailors grabbed one of the embroidered cloak's tails and pulled at it too hard: the garment ripened open and Will's bloodied left arm fell out of it, partially revealing the injuries on his upper body.

A collective gasp rang out loud through the crowd, the _Dutchman_'s sailors realizing in a snap what kind of horrors their young Captain had endured from his abductors. But Bill Turner's eyes flashed in anger: Will had been tortured mercilessly to preserve his ship, his crew and the whole world from Red Hand Pete, and he couldn't receive a single amount of help because his own men acted like imbeciles!

"**ALL RIGHT, THAT'S ENOUGH!"** roared Bootstrap, and everybody on the upper deck jumped in fright – including Captain Jack Sparrow, alias "Nerves-of-steel". Bill Turner's eyes were radiating that strange light again and, in his angry face, it was quite an impressive sight, enough to make the most hardened pirates shake in fear in their boots.

"BUNCH OF WEAK-MINDED FOOLS!" thundered the _Dutchman_'s First Mate. "our Captain has been through Hell TO PROTECT YOU and now that he needs help, all you can think of to do is repeating DAVY Jones' rule like parrots! **When in the world are you going to grow out of that monster's shadow?**"

A stunned silence followed Bill's words, and every seaman looked down in shame: they had been so obsessed with the return of their Captain – the holder of their sanity -, they had completely overlooked the fact Will was gravely wounded. And they had been saying Jones' motto again and again, even though their young leader had spent the last five years telling them it didn't prevailed any more aboard the ghost ship!

Jack grimaced behind the men's back, silently taking a mental note that it was absolutely unhealthy to be on William Turner Senior's bad side. The affable big man could change into a ferocious fighter in a blink of an eye!

"Now, clear the way! I need to tend to Will. Maccus, bring me some clean linen, all the bandages you can find, medicinal castor oil and FRESH WATER, LOTS OF FRESH WATER! **ON THE DOUBLE**!"

"Aye, Mister Turner!" said Maccus before disappearing below deck, followed by Jimmy Legs. The crowd clumsily parted in two to let Bill Turner pass with his fragile cargo, and soon afterwards the Great Cabin's door slammed behind the big man's back.

As groggy as they were, the _Dutchman_'s sailors still looked terribly embarrassed, as if their outburst had definitively alienated them from their First Mate. They all liked Bootstrap Bill and their attitude could have compromised his consideration towards them. But a loud **"Ahem!"** was suddenly heard and all the men stared at Jack, who was standing nearby the mainmast with a vexed look on his face.

"Oceanic wanderers! Now that you are obviously back to a relatively-normal state of mind, may I suggest you – as an officer, a gentlemen and the wily Captain Jack Sparrow – to go back to your chores and make this proud ship seaworthy again? Because, frankly, it is a disgrace! I can imagine the kidnapping of your commander has distressed you to the point of feeling your brains turning into a badly-cooked _sauce béarnaise_, but now that Will has been rescued, I think a nice "Welcome back" present is in order, yes? And what would be better for your Captain to see a perfect vessel waiting for him?"

"But… Mister Turner didn't give us any orders, Sir!" said Joel McCarthy.

"Never mind! Bill is too busy to direct you, and my tremendous intuitive sense of authority informs me you long for instructions. Consequently, I'm taking the command of the _Flying Dutchman_ until its rightful leader is back on his feet. And if anyone wants to mumble a contestation, I'd like to remind him that I'm Captain Jack Sparrow and I can do anything, savvy?"

The sailors' eyes were like saucers after hearing the silver-tongued pirate's declaration, but after a few moments of hesitation they agreed to follow Jack's orders until Will would be able to stand at the helm. Being leaderless had been a too painful experience for them and they needed a person in charge.

"Good!" exclaimed Jack after the crewmembers had expressed their accord. "So right now, drag yourselves to your stations! I want a report about the state of the hull. Clean that deck! The topmen, climb up the masts and disengage those broken yard-arms. Replace those sheets! Get those lines laying on the deck out of the way before someone get his feet entangled in them! Movement, I want movement!"

The men scrambled with the heaviness of elephants chased away by an outbreak of fire in the savannah. Joel McCarthy made his report about the damaged hull and Jack dispatched some more men to help the carpenter. But before McCarthy went downstairs, Jack grabbed him by the arm:

"Tell me, good fellow, could you bring me a flagon of rum? My heroic deeds to save your Captain have left me with a desert-worth thirst and I'd like to drench it while guiding you lot on the way of real seamanship…"

"Rum? Oh, 'am sorry Sir, but there hasn't been any onboard fer years. We prefer ta drink coffee or plain water now. Ye see, rum reminds us too much of Davy Jones, when we used ta get drunk to forget abbat us turning into horrible monsters because of him… Cap'tain Sparrow? _**Why are ya banging yur head against the mainmast?!**_"

* * *

_Inside the Great Cabin…_

Bill Turner looked around: after his slanging, Maccus and Jimmy Legs had worked efficiently and the Great Cabin had all the needed items to tend to Will. They had deposited two open kegs of fresh water on the floor and have lightened all the candles to give their First Mate sufficient illumination. Clean towels, dressings and bandages were piled on a nearby chair, alongside a bottle of medicinal castor oil and the men had even thought of improvising an operating table by clearing the desk and spreading three layers of bed sheets on it.

He looked at his son, curled up in his arms; in spite of the commotion on the _Dutchman_'s upper deck and his crew's involuntary manhandling, Will hadn't woken up. In a way, his unconsciousness was a blessing because he wouldn't feel the effects of his father's ministrations, but Bootstrap was devastated at the thought of the long convalescence Will would have to face.

His conscience kicked him with a vengeance: Will needed medical treatment at once, and it couldn't be provided by his father falling apart from grief and remorse. Later, after his son would be better, Bill would cry his eyes out in the privacy of his own cabin. But he'd be damned if Will was delayed of receiving medical help for another second!

Straightening up, Bill walked towards the sheet-covered desk and gently lowered Will on the linens; then, he started to undress his son. He removed the embroidered cloak to throw it across a chair, silently vowing to tell Will about the provenance of this garment and its honorable previous owner. Afterwards, he untied the long scraps of leather securing the Jolly Roger around the young man's waist, and tossed them away. Then, with a snarl, Bill removed Red Hand Pete's flag and slammed it down on the floor in disgust, deliberately wiping his boots on the black-and-white cloth.

"_Too bad it isn't Red Hand Pete's head!"_ thought the older man, and for a moment his kind eyes turned as cold as ice.

Grabbing a towel, he soaked it with water and began the long and difficult task of cleaning Will's bare body. He began with his face, delicately sponging the fair skin and cleaned the wounds. Then Bill washed the neck, arms, hands and torso; the dried blood and the sweat fell on the bed sheets in heavy drops, maculating the white cloth.

He took another towel and dunked it into the keg of fresh water before removing the particles of soil still clinging on Will's private parts, his legs and his feet. When it was finished, Bill took out the first layer of bed sheets, throwing them down on the Great Cabin's planks so the young man wouldn't lie on linen saturated with dirty water. Finally, he hastily mopped Will's sweat-saturated hair with another wet towel: it would do, until his son would be strong enough to have his hair washed in a proper manner.

Even unconscious, Will felt the small comfort of the sponge bath and he sighed, making his father smile. But the thorough cleaning had also revealed the grievous state of his injuries. Cursing loudly and violently at Red Hand Pete's and Long's memories, Bootstrap grabbed another dripping-wet towel and cleaned all the cuts, bruises, whiplashes and puncture wounds Will had sustained; then he applied dressings impregnated with medicinal castor oil, and bandaged the wounds.

Some of the cuts were still bleeding; others were infected, especially the lacerations made by the whippings, and Bill had no other choices than to cauterize them: he heated his knife's blade above the flame of a burning candle and after it was hot, he pressed it against the wounds. The blood coagulated quickly, thus controlling the bleeding and closing the cuts, but the smell of burned tissues was making Bill feel like throwing up!

Bill worked quickly, but Will never moved during the whole operation. Not a moan or a grunt passed through his lips and Bootstrap felt tears gathering in his eyes. Once again, his child was proving his unlimited courage but Will looked so frail, almost delicate with the bandages wrapped around his torso, his arms and his hands. He had wished Will would regain his powers as soon as he'd be back aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, or after the last remnants of soil had been cleaned from his body; but Red Hand Pete's iron maiden had worked too well. It would take weeks before William would be on the mend.

And what would be the consequences of his captivity on his mind? Would it change him into a bitter, enraged man hating the whole world and everybody in it? A horrible thought made shivers of fear run down Bill's spine. Will had walked right into a trap after Red Hand Pete had used his compassion against him: maybe the young Captain would become reluctant to perform his duty towards the souls lost at sea. Maybe… Oh God, maybe Will would even refuse to ferry them, out of fear of being duped again. It would compromise his chances to be freed in a few years!

The older man clenched his jaw so violently his teeth almost got vertical fractures: no, it would never happen. His son had too much noblesse in him, just like his late mother, to be led astray by the vile actions of Red Hand Pete. He'd never seek revenge from a bad deed by persecuting innocents. This kind of petty attitude was worthy of a Davy Jones, but not of a William Turner Jr.!

"_Get a grip, old fool," _thought Bootstrap Bill._ "This is just your fear giving you stupid ideas. If there is anyone on this ball of mud and salted water you can trust, it's Will – and he would never allow Red Hand Pete to win, not even posthumously. Will is strong and his heart is intact, protected by his wife and out of reach from any evildoer. Resentment can't touch his soul because… he's an angel."_

Bill turned around and spotted his son's sleeping corner in the Great Cabin, with its bedding still crumpled from the last time Will had slept on it. The elder Turner remembered Will had planned to rest after working non-stop for two days, just before hearing the _Conqueror_'s fake call of distress. Exhausted and worried for the young boy's soul, Will had been an easy prey for Red Hand Pete's Machiavellian trap. Well, he'd rest now, and pity to the fool who'd ever try to disturb him!

The big man removed the bedding, and then he gathered Will in his arms again to make him lie on the soft mattress. The thick dressings, held by the bandages, would protect the wounds and also prevent Will to feel any discomfort about lying on his back. Bill covered his son with the sheets and blankets, refusing him to be cold for more than an instant. Then he knelt next to the bed and stroked his child's brow.

"Will? Little One, can you hear me? It's Papa, my love. You're saved now; we're aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ and the monsters are gone. Jack is also here; I don't know why he's allowed to remain with us on the ship, but right now I don't care. I'm just glad he's here, and I'll bet he has taken charge of the crew. He took an active part in your rescue and he has quite a story to tell you. He'll probably tell you he vanquished the _Conqueror_ all by himself, but that's Jack and we can't change him, can we?"

"But I'd like you to open your eyes, Will. Just for a second, to tell me you'll be all right. It's awful to see you so lifeless, so hurt – I can't start to imagine the torments you had to endure, but you've never gave in to your enemies. You told me once that everybody talks under torture, but that was one of the rare times you were wrong: **you** didn't talk. Elizabeth and your little boy are safe, thanks to you. I didn't have your courage when Hector Barbossa had me whipped for two days straight, to make me confess the location of the last Aztec gold coin so he and his traitors could lift the curse. I cracked in the end, and endangered you and your mother. "

Bill's eyes misted again at this painful memory, and he kissed lightly his son on the forehead. Then he got on his feet and walked back to the kegs; he wanted to give Will some fresh water, but something caught his eyes and his face turned into stone: it was the _Conqueror_'s Jolly Roger, lying on the floor amongst the sheets maculated with blood and dirt. Growling like a wild animal, Bootstrap grabbed the flag and tore it into pieces while roaring:

"Red Hand Pete, you bastard! Coward, gutless, soulless bastard, may you rot in Hell alongside with Jones for all eternity! Being crushed by a humpback whale was too lenient for you and your crew of monsters! How dare you? HOW DARE YOU HAVE TOUCHED MY BABY? My beautiful, marvelous William! Oh, I hope the Devil will hang you by your own entrails!"

And with that last imprecation, Bill bundled up the shredded flag with the dirty sheets, opened one of the Great Cabin's windows and threw the whole lot into the ocean.

"May it disappear with your brig and your love for torture, worthless whoreson!"

A soft "splash" followed the burly-shaped man's curse, and the rags slowly disappeared into the depths. Bill slammed shut the window so he didn't see the bubbles appearing at the surface of the water, at the exact spot where the bundle had sank. The sea was getting agitated again, just like the time when Jack had deliberately thrown Will's bandana in the ocean to "call" for some reinforcements….

Bill sighed loudly: his outburst had calmed him a bit, but his heart felt like it was bleeding from a hundred cuts. He knew he won't be at peace until his William would make a full recovery, but how long was it going to take?

The desperate father soaked the last clean towel, and then he kneeled back to the bed and squeezed the linen close to his son's face: droplets of fresh water fell between the crackled lips, and Will swallowed the liquid with a tiny sound. Bill had a hard time to refrain from crying. Will's handsome features were damaged and his face was a mass of cuts and puncture wounds, drawing terrible patterns on the skin. Shiao Long's vengeance against a man better than him had been thorough!

The elder Turner laid the wet towel across his son's forehead in the hopes to abate the fever. He wanted to hold the young man's hand but the mangled hands with their missing fingernails prevented him to do so. At the cost of an enormous effort, he managed to keep his voice from trembling and spoke again:

"Will, my darling. Son of mine, please wake up. Please indulge your old man? I'd cut off my right arm if it could help you. You are the light of my life; only the love I feel for you have kept me alive during my time as a slave on this ship. Otherwise, I would have let myself melt into the hull's beams, like old Wyvern did. He wasn't freed from his oath, but at least he could fell into a torpor that lasted for years. But do you know what, Will? Every night, after my chores were done, I looked at the stars and I thought of you. I remembered your eyes shining like those heavenly gems whenever we played together. It gave me the strength to endure another day of horrors… Oh Will, the only thing I had was the hope that someday, we would be reunited. A fool's hope, maybe, but I prayed every time I gazed at the stars, asking for someone to come and free us all from this floating Hell."

Bill gently brushed his son's face, his fingers carefully avoiding the injuries.

"I've never thought my prayers would be answered. And I certainly didn't imagine the rescuer would be you. It just proves how stupid I am: who else but you, my angel, could come and save me?"

The older man choked down a sob with difficulty before carrying on:

"My angel… I've never called you this out loud, but it's the secret name I've given you on the day of your birth. I'm ashamed to say so, but I was already considering an illegal career at the time. I was so disgusted by my inaptitude to earn money that I was tempted to become a smuggler like my father, even though it had cost him his life. But all of a sudden, a bundle of blankets is shoved into my arms and I'm holding an infant, starved for milk and tenderness. Oh Will, you were a magnificent baby… and your eyes already had all the wisdom of the world. I knew nothing bad could happen to me as long as you were here, protecting me with your angelic innocence and love."

Tears finally ran down Bootstrap Bill's face: no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't contain his grief. He wept for a few minutes, silently cursing Red Hand Pete for torturing Will, the _Conqueror_'s sailors for their collusion, and himself for letting the kidnapping happen.

Lost in his pain, Bill didn't see the window being pushed open by a gentle breeze, nor did he noticed the little crab climbing its sill to fall on the Great Cabin's floor. The decapod crustacean remained still for a minute, as if it was taking its bearings, and then it crawled towards the sleeping pallet. Another crab fell inside the cabin, followed by another, and another… all these marine creatures followed their leader in single file, their tiny legs taping against the wooden planks.

The ex-doomed sailor wiped his face with his shirt's sleeve, and sighed again.

"To think I was foolish enough to abandon you and my Mary for a few lousy doubloons… I've forfeited both my angels and everything turned into disaster afterwards, but I was too stubborn to admit it. Only when Barbossa overthrew Jack from his command did I realize the errors of my ways, but it was too late, much too late. I consider myself the luckiest man alive for you forgiving my absence, and allowing me to sail with you. I know I don't deserve you or your love but please, Will, wake up; I feel like I'm loosing my mind!"

Only silence answered Bootstrap Bill Turner, who felt as if he was strangled by a rope made of sorrow. His son's unconsciousness was more than he could bear and he would have damned his soul on the spot to see Will's eyelids opening, revealing the chocolate-colored orbs hiding beneath. And then... A strange noise caught the older man's attention. It sounded like pointed things, like daggers or needles, hitting wooden planks all at the same time.

Bill turned around and his blue eyes went enormous: dozens of crabs were crawling on the Great Cabin's floor!

"What in the world…?" started to say the _Dutchman_'s First Mate, stupefied by the apparition of the crustaceans in William's quarters.

The little animals didn't seem to be distressed about their presence aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. They were quickly gathering into a round, thick mass on the floor while a flood of crabs was pouring from the open window, right in front of Bill's unbelieving eyes. He had seen thousands of these crustaceans in his life: on the beach at low tide, in fishermen's baskets and often inside his mess tin, but he had never heard about such a strange behavior!

"What… Where do these critters come from?" asked Bill under his breath. "How did they get in here?"

He was starting to get worried: would the small animals try to climb on the bed and attack Will? But before he could think of taking some kind of action, the crabs' seething mass grew taller, bigger until it formed a pillar and then it instantly metamorphosed into a human form….

…a shapely female form.

Bootstrap Bill almost screamed out of the surprise caused by the incredible sight in front of him. The crabs had transformed into… a woman!

It was a beautiful dark-skinned woman, with hypnotic eyes accentuated by the delicate patterns tattooed under her lower eyelids. Her long curly hair was done in a multitude of dreadlocks, enhanced by fragments of seashells, nacre and golden rings. She was wearing a long red-and-silver gown with elaborated embroideries, and heavy-looking necklaces made from whale bones and pearls. Her right wrist was adorned with a silver bracelet, holding pendants shaped like crab claws. One golden chain, hanging from her neck, was tucked inside her gown's stomacher which was covered with precious stones.

The mysterious woman smiled gently at the agape Bill Turner, but her expression changed into sadness when she saw Will lying on the bed, so pale and so still, his arms and hands covered with bandages and his face marked with cruel wounds. She closed her eyes and sighed, as if she was shocked beyond words by the young man's ordeal. Then, her jet-black eyes locked themselves on Bootstrap's sapphires and she said:

"Greetings, William Turner the elder. I am Calypso, goddess of the sea."

TBC…


	28. Every little thing she does is magic

**Disclaimer: **still the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- To Ana: thank you for your kind words!

- To Smithy: I'm sending you right now a big cyber-hug!

- To Candi: here it is... your curiosity will be satisfied!

- Details about Calypso come from Wikipedia.

- This chapter contains references to my stories _"Sealed with a kiss"_ and _"The long ordeal of Bootstrap Bill"_.

- "_Ad nauseam"_ means in Latin _"Until feeling sick"_.

- The poem quoted by Calypso is from French writer Joachim du Bellay (c. 1522 - 1560), from his book _"The regrets"_ (1558).

- Heavy smarm again! Don't like, don't read! ;-)

* * *

**Chapter ****28: Every little thing she does is magic**

_Inside the Great Cabin__…_

Bill Turner felt his insides turn into seaweeds. The apparition of a woman materializing out of a column of living crabs was frightening enough but after she had given her identity, the ex-slave felt like screaming in terror! He placed himself in front of his son's bed, in the hopes of protecting Will from whatever was going to happen.

Calypso, the heathen deity of the sea! Will had told his father all about the misplaced love of Davy Jones for her; how he had agreed to ferry souls on the _Flying Dutchman_ for ten years in exchange of her affections, and her failing to show up at their scheduled appointment. Enraged by Calypso's frivolous attitude, Jones had made a pact with evil forces and cut out his heart to lock it inside the Dead Man's Chest. He deliberately changed into an octopus-faced monster, making a mockery of his duty and press-ganging dying sailors into his crew so they would become horrible freaks of nature, like him.

But this revenge hadn't been enough for Jones: he had also summoned the Brethren Court to entrap his supernatural lover into a human form, supposedly to give them plenty of scope to roam the seas – in fact, he had wanted to cripple Calypso. Suddenly reduced to the state of a simple woman, she had taken the identity of voodoo priestess Tia Dalma. For years, she had helplessly watched the consequences of her unfaithfulness: thousands of souls of those dead at sea floating aimlessly on the ocean, vainly waiting for transportation to the Other Side while Jones would massacre innocents while moping about his disdained love.

Will had also told Bootstrap Bill about how he had met Tia Dalma with Jack, Gibbs, Pintel and Ragetti so they'd find the _Flying Dutchman_; how she had said the young Turner had _"A touch of destiny about him"_. Later, after Jack's disappearance into the Kraken's mouth, how she had lead them to Singapore to steal Sao Feng's navigational charts – the only known maps allowing them to reach the Locker and free Sparrow. Since they needed a Captain, she had taken upon her to resuscitate Hector Barbossa, one year after his demise on _Isla de Muerta_.

But Barbossa had double-crossed Tia Dalma and kept her locked in the _Black Pearl_'s brig. Then, he had convinced the nine Pirate Lords to release her from her human bounds, stating that Tia Dalma/Calypso would reward them by protecting their ships from the East India Trading Company's armada. Unfortunately, things hadn't gone as planned: Will had found out that Jones had been the one responsible of Calypso's human bounds in the first place, and he had revealed the truth to her. Furious, the deity had retaliated by creating an enormous maelstrom which had nearly ended their lives.

The elder Turner felt an icy fist clenching his stomach. In all his years of slavery aboard the _Dutchman_, he had never learned the name of Jones' lover who had caused all these atrocities. And now, the said lover was standing right in front of him!

Calypso had appeared in the form of a slender, medium-built woman with a kind smile. Her dark skin shone under the lights provided by the Great Cabin's candles, making it look as smooth as silk enhanced by golden threads, but Bill had no doubts that she could crush him simply by snapping her fingers. He was a tall man, about four inches over six feet, but he wouldn't stand a chance against her. The apparition was radiating of phenomenal powers and he clearly remembered the violence of the maelstrom she had unleashed: it had felt like the world was ending!

His mind was reeling with questions: what did that human-shaped goddess want? Why had she come here? Did she want to kidnap Will, too? Would she take him into the ocean's depths and no one would ever see him again?

"Please…" croaked Bootstrap, but his tightened throat prevented him to say further.

Calypso's smile widened at this simple word, and then she took a step forward the big man. Bill Turner panicked and he blurted out:

"NO! Please, don't!"

"Don't do what, William Turner the elder?" asked the woman with a sultry voice. Unfortunately, it didn't reassure the ex-doomed sailor to the slightest. Bill felt his legs loosing all their strength and he suddenly found himself sitting on the edge of his son's bunk. Instinctively, he shielded Will with his body, terrorized by the sight of the goddess' incarnation so close to them. Bootstrap thought he was as trapped as a mouse facing a huge cat!

At the same moment, Will let out an almost-inaudible sigh and shifted slightly under the blankets covering him. Calypso lowered her eyes to look at the injured young man lying on the bed, and Bill finally regained the use of his tongue.

"Do what you want with me but I beg of you, spare him. Please, don't hurt Will!"

"Hurt him?" asked Calypso, her incredible eyes focused on the youngster's battered face. "Why would I, William Turner the elder?"

"Because… Because… H-He has been injured and… a-and you and J-Jones… you both have hurt him too many times in the past!"

The heathen goddess hung her head in shame, making the baubles entangled in her hair chime softly. One tiny part of Bill's brains was screaming at him, telling him to shut the Hell up, that he was facing an entity of incredible power which could destroy him before he could even realize what was happening. But the older man couldn't repress the grief tearing him apart. For five years, he had stifled the pain he had felt when doing the horrible task of slicing out his son's heart. He knew Will loved him unconditionally, but Bill had remained secretly inconsolable for the ten years of exile the young Turner was submitted to. He had never told his son about his sorrow, but many times the _Dutchman_'s First Mate had cried in the solitude of his cabin, cursing himself for his past weaknesses and allowing Jones' inhuman oath to crush his mind.

The brutal kidnapping of Will, the despair, the worries, the battle against the _Conqueror_, the vile actions of Red Hand Pete… all that accumulated stress was taking its toll on Bootstrap Bill. The added apparition of Calypso had also awakened many bad memories for the strongly-built man, the worst one being him approaching his dying William with a knife in his hand… All this misery, all this pain caused by a megalomaniac Davy Jones and his unfaithful, supernatural lover!

Calypso sighed, and then she locked her gaze on Bill's sapphires.

"Truth is, William Turner the elder. Your son has suffered much from Jones' actions and mine. But he had to fulfill his destiny…"

"**His destiny? **_**His destiny?**_** But who are you to toy with my son's destiny?**" roared Bootstrap Bill. "**Who gave you the right to manipulate people and play them like marionettes on strings? My son is a free man, do you hear me? He chooses his own fate**!"

"Yes, he is, William Turner," calmly answered Calypso, unshaken by Bill's outburst. "He has chosen to unchain you and your shipmates from my scorned lover's madness. From the very first moment your son entered my shack, I knew his destiny was to free the _Dutchman_ from Davy Jones' corruption of his true mission."

Bootstrap Bill was shaking with barely-contained rage: how this woman/goddess could speak so casually of the ordeals Will had to endure?

"And did you know he would receive a whipping? That he would be nearly mangled by the Kraken? That he would be beaten up, shot at, shipwrecked and betrayed by everyone he had trusted? That he would end up at the mercy of Beckett, who had twenty times the opportunity to hang him? Not to forget Sao Feng trying to drown him in one of those goddamned baths… And me, his unworthy father, carving his heart out! _**I raised a knife against my own son… all this because you have played him for your selfish purposes!**_"

Calypso got the full blast of Bill's accusations without moving a muscle. She knew she deserved this and much more. It wasn't the first time her interferences in human affairs had provoked catastrophes. After the maelstrom battle, she had preferred to disappear beneath the waves rather than giving a single word of comfort to the young man who had paid a high price to eliminate Davy Jones. But she had felt Will's pain twice in the same day: firstly by his bandana thrown in the water by Jack, secondly by Red Hand Pete's flag hurled overboard along with the blood-and-grime maculated bed sheets. Those testimonies of Will's sufferings had decided Calypso to act… and to make amends.

Her dark eyes shone of a strange light and Bill Turner suddenly got frightened; his anger had blinded him momentarily about the nature of the woman standing in front of him, but now he was worried that he may have gone too far. He opened his mouth in an attempt to apologize, but Calypso merely raised her hand in a gesture of peace.

"No, William Turner the elder, do not fear your truthful words. There are times where deities learn lessons of honesty and rightfulness from humans. But know that I wouldn't be able to do anything against your son even if I wanted to.

"W-What do you mean?"

"Your son, William Turner, is exceptional. And I am not only talking about his handsomeness or his courage, which are already enough to make him stand apart from the crowd of mortals. But he has a touch of destiny about him… a great destiny that only **he** could accomplish. Jones had corrupted his self, his ship and his mission to spite me, and then he became a monster gifted with so many powers even I couldn't stop him. I can't tell you which evil forces he had summoned for creating the Dead Man's Chest; it would drive you to folly. The stupid Barbossa had thought severing my human bounds would be enough to destroy Jones and Beckett in a single move. But it wasn't true: the coward Jones had made sure the unique way to kill him was to stab his rotten heart."

Calypso sighed, and then she started walking up and down the Great Cabin's floor. Bootstrap Bill didn't dare to move an inch, mesmerized by the fluid movements of the woman/goddess.

"I wasn't proud of myself after I've realized what my idleness had caused, but it was too late. As Tia Dalma, I could only watch from afar the consequences of Jones' rage: sunken ships, hundreds of lives lost, sailors enslaved aboard the _Flying Dutchman_… The sea, my domain, became a haunted place filled with ghosts, sullying the perfect balance of its waters. And I hadn't had a hope to correct the situation. The only men who came to my shack were unconcerned pirates, asking for advice or fortune-telling, and they certainly wouldn't have the courage to face my former lover's wrath. Besides, how could they? They were morally corrupted themselves. Only a true hero could stand against Davy Jones, and I despaired to find one in this world. For a moment, I thought Captain Sparrow could become my champion…"

"Jack?" asked the elder Turner in surprise, not realizing that he had involuntarily interrupted the deity.

"Aye, Witty Jack," answered Calypso with a smile, revealing pearl-white teeth. "His intelligence is great, and I thought his brains would compensate for his challenged morality. But his sense of self-preservation is even greater, so we departed in more or less good terms – but I didn't bear any grudge against him; that's why I've given him a magic compass to help him in his pirating career: getting into trouble is a second nature to Jack!"

The incarnation chuckled slightly, as if she was remembering a found memory of the world-famous Captain Sparrow. But when she spoke again, her voice had a hint of sadness:

"I became certain the _Dutchman_ would terrorize the seas for all eternity, much to my shame. But then, your son came to my shack and… I couldn't believe my own eyes: my champion had come, and he was more than I could ever imagine! He was beautiful and brave, an immaculate heart was beating inside his chest, his eyes were illuminated by his angelic soul… and he had a touch of destiny about him. Amongst that rag-tag bunch of pirates lead by Witty Jack, your William looked like a magnificent butterfly lost in a muddy swamp."

Bill was still sitting on the bed shielding Will, but he was absently stroking his son's brow.

"Jack wanted the key and the Dead Man's Chest to protect himself from Jones. So he sent your son to the _Flying Dutchman_ in the hopes he would meet you and return to the _Black Pearl _with the key – what would be better than an ally onboard to help William finding its location? But Jack's plan backfired so he had to hurry; he found the Dead Man's Chest but he got betrayed, twice, and ended up facing the Kraken. In the meantime, your son was determined to save you at all costs. For that, he needed the _Black Pearl_, the only ship which could outrun the _Dutchman_. When he came back to my shack with Elizabeth and the surviving crew, I knew my champion William wouldn't stop until he had freed you from your oath, and it meant defeating Jones forever."

The elder Turner suddenly experienced difficulties to breathe; no wonder, with that huge lump of sorrow blocking his throat!

"During our trip to Singapore, I warned your son about a price to pay for what he wanted. But he never backed down, not even after he had learned from Governor Swann's ghost about killing Jones would make the knife-holder the new Captain of the _Dutchman_. William had thousands of reasons to renounce: his strained relationship with his fiancée, the dangers looming above his head, Lord Beckett running at his heels like a bloodthirsty hound from Hell… even you had begged him to never approach the ghost ship again! But he couldn't, because men like him don't give up on their promises."

Overwhelmed, Bill cradled Will's head in his lap, rocking him gently while taking extra care to not aggravate his injuries.

"My kid… Oh, my marvelous darling! I don't deserve him," said the older man in a broken voice.

"But you have him, William Turner the elder. And you have proven a hundredfold that you are worthy of a son like him. Your paternal love is one of the strongest I've seen, and it would put many mortal and immortal fathers to shame. It explains the reasons of Jones' wild jealousy towards you."

* * *

_On the _Dutchman_'s main deck…_

Captain Jack Sparrow was sitting on the helm's stairs, watching morosely at the shipmates performing their chores in heavy, clumsy movements. McCarthy, the carpenter, had succeeded in preventing him from banging his head against the mainmast out of sheer frustration, but Jack was still furious at his situation. It was worse than being stranded in Tortuga: he had been penniless there, but at least he had rum! But after he had managed to retrieve his rainy-cash money from _Isla de Muerta_, he was stranded on a ship without any rum! Where was the justice in this?

McCarthy had given him a keg of fresh water to drench his thirst; Jack had been tempted to throw it on the deck's planks, but the sailors' Book of Rules was adamant about this: no drinking water should be wasted, and Jack was a seaman to his core. So he had gulped down the liquid contained in the keg and it had helped in calming his burning throat, but his addiction was begging him to find some rum as soon as possible.

"_You'll __just have to wait until we reach Tortuga, like each and every organ of my finely-tuned body!"_ grumbled Jack inwardly at his tiny, personal demon perched on his shoulder like Cotton's parrot, but it wouldn't shut up in the last.

The former Captain of the _Black Pearl_ was feeling tired from the boarding, the fights and the fact he had pulled Red Hand Pete's leg for two days straight. Normally, after gaining a historical victory, he would get gloriously drunk and carouse with Scarlett or Gisele until he'd drop in exhaustion and sleep for a week or so. But how could he celebrate another one of his glorious exploits without any flagons nearby him? No one would imagine a sailor without a ship, an island without a treasure, a tavern without attracting ladies. So how the superb Captain Jack Sparrow was supposed to live without rum?

"I'll end up as the Sober Captain Jack Sparrow," mumbled the slender man between his teeth, "and I'll be the disgrace of the pirating world. My legend will be used to entertain laughing children!"

The _Flying Dutchman_ seemed to reflect Jack's somber mood: in spite of the renewed efforts of its crew, the ship still looked like a floating ruin and so far, Will's return hadn't improved anything – much to everyone's chagrin. The men had been shaken up by Bootstrap Bill's slanging and they had stopped repeating "The _Dutchman_ must have a Captain"_ ad nauseam_. But to have them truly back in shape, they needed to see their young commander back on his feet!

Jack glanced at the Great Cabin's door. It had been about an hour since Bill had closed it to tend to Will, but nothing had transpired since and no one dared to knock at the door for news. Maccus and Jimmy Legs were whispering quietly like conspirators, but it didn't take a genius to understand what they talking about: they were considering asking Jack to inquest about Will's state of health, but even the amazing Captain Sparrow wasn't too enthusiastic at the idea of disturbing ol' Bootstrap for the moment. When it came to his son's well-being, the big man was quite impressive!

Jack had no other options than to sit and wait, a situation he profoundly detested. The truth was, Jack had no one to talk to. He had watched the _Seref_ slowly disappearing at the horizon and he knew his newfound crew – Marty, Cotton, Pintel, Ragetti, Murtogg, Mullroy – and his guest Mister Wang Tao were waiting for him in the _Sparrow Hawk_ and a longboat, staying at a safe distance. He had wanted to climb aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ out of concern for Will, but also by bravado – to prove to the rest of the world that he was truly the inimitable Captain Sparrow who could do anything, including stepping on a ship when only ghostly passengers were allowed aboard. But Jack needed an audience for his fame to grow, and he was currently ignored by the _Dutchman_'s crewmembers!

"_This must be some kind of Davy Jones' posthumous revenge… __Instead of loosing my brains while covered with shells and melting into his former ship's walls, I will die of boredom!"_ thought Jack, wishing for the thousandth time he had taken a shipload of rum before leaving Tortuga in Ammand's galley.

* * *

_In__side the Great Cabin…_

Bill Turner's eyes were as large as saucers!

"_**What?!**_ With all due respect, lady, you're mistaken!"

"Oh no, I am not. Jones was indeed jealous of you," calmly answered Calypso. She had stopped her pacing to consider the tall man, still seated on the bed and cradling Will in his arms.

"But why? What in the world was he jealous of? He was the Captain, the Master of the Seas who could decide the fate of people in all impunity! Nothing could hurt him, no weapon could wound him and he feared neither God nor the Devil; he was almost invincible! And me… I was but a sailor, another slave on his ship! I was nothing!"

"That's where **you** are mistaken, William Turner the elder. Jones resented you from the very first moment you were hoisted aboard the _Dutchman_ while tied to a cannon. You were under the Aztec Gold curse, remember? And it had kept you alive during all the years you've spent chained on the ocean's bed. This curse was a form of immortality, and Jones disliked the idea of having a man who could compete with him in this domain. But his thirst for souls overcame his pettiness and he press-ganged you into service, wrongly thinking his devilish oath would be enough to break your mind. What better for a would-be eternal Master of the Seas to be served by an immortal slave?"

"I know he was angry at me whenever I stepped into the moonlight because each time, the curse would strip me of my flesh and the barnacles feasting on it…"

"The Aztecan curse interfered with his oath, so it cured you of those invading creatures, albeit temporarily. But it also gave you a little hope, and Jones hated good feelings with a passion. The one he loathed the most, of course, was love – that's why his contempt towards you decupled the night you recognized your son aboard the _Flying Dutchman_."

The older man felt a block of ice settling inside his chest at the recollection of that stormy night: a gun had to be hauled and Jimmy Legs had ordered _"Mister Turner"_ to secure the mast tackle. Unfortunately, two men answered to that name: Bootstrap and Will, held hostage on the ghost ship by Jones' blackmail on Sparrow. A struggle over a rope had led to the cannon crashing on the deck and Will had been wrongfully accused of wrongdoing. Jimmy Legs had gotten the cat-o'-nine-tails out to give the young man a lashing but Bill had interfered, offering to take the whole punishment upon his person.

"_Will you, know? And what would prompt such an act of charity?" had asked __Davy Jones with a sardonic tone._

_Terrified__, knowing it would be useless to lie, Bill had blurted out:_

"_My son… He's my son!"_

_Jones' eyes had narrowed at these words, and then he had looked at Will and Bootstrap Bill, back and forth. The family likeness was undeniable! The hideous monster had cruelly guffawed…_

"Jones was jealous of me because of Will?" asked the elder Turner.

"Aye, and I bear a part of responsibility for this. You see, I told Jones he'd be released after ten years of soul-ferry duty and he'd become my husband. A bad case of the mumps at sixteen years of age had made sure he would never procreate, making his peers ridicule him in public. I soothed his wounded pride by promising him children… but his hopes were crushed forever when I didn't show up for our rendezvous."

Calypso hung her head again, as if it was too painful for her to explain why she had missed her decade-old meeting with her ex-lover, and Bill didn't press the matter: whatever had caused the goddess to miss her appointment wasn't his business, anyway.

"You confessed your blood relations and Jones went mad of jealousy: not only you, a slave, had a son any man would be unabashedly proud of, but you also loved him with every fiber of your being! He saw it in your eyes, William Turner the elder, so he had to crush this unadulterated love since it was nothing but a silent insult to him, a creature full of venom and bile."

"That's why he ordered me to do the whipping… He thought it would alienate Will from me," said Bootstrap, thinking out loud.

"Correct, but his scheming failed. Jones had underestimated the depths of your affection and your son's intelligence. After the Dead Man's Chest key was stolen, he sent the Kraken after your William and he forced you to assist to the attack – what could be more painful for a father to assist at his beloved child's destruction?"

"And it had worked this time… I lost my mind out of sorrow, and I didn't recognize Will during the maelstrom battle. I almost cut his throat with my own sword… just before stabbing him with a blade!"

The man's tall frame was shaken with sobs, and it took all his strength not to fall apart in front of Calypso. The supernatural woman walked quietly towards the bed and put a reassuring hand on Bill's shoulder.

"You didn't "raise" your knife against your son, William Turner the elder," corrected the heathen deity. "Jones is the sole responsible for his fatal wounding: he's the one who had thrust his sword deep in William's chest, out of jealousy – again – after witnessing the obvious love between your son and Elizabeth. Witty Jack turned the tables by guiding William's hand to the heart, before fleeing the ship: he knew that only you would have the courage to "operate" your son, in order to grant him another chance in life. Otherwise, Jones would have won from the grave."

Bootstrap Bill remained silent. He knew the woman/goddess was right: it had been the only way at hand to save Will. He had been too grievously wounded and in the maelstrom's fury, no one could have helped him. He knew it and so did Will, but a part of him had been grieving endlessly from that day.

"I don't blame you for feeling guilty," pursued Calypso. "But as I've said, your son was called for a great destiny and he will be remembered as the hero who had freed thousands of souls from the clutches of a monster."

"But what if he's bound to the _Dutchman_'s forever?" asked Bootstrap Bill, finally voicing out his worst fears. "Davy Jones once said Will's fate was to be married to this ship. What if Will is condemned to see his family only once every ten years, never allowed to live a normal life with them?"

"It won't happen!" said the human incarnation firmly. "Do you think your son's courage and honor go unnoticed by higher beings? Separating him from his family forever would be an act of abominable cruelty, worthy of a Davy Jones. But in spite of his exile and his duty, your son doesn't despair because he has chosen the right woman: unlike me, Elizabeth will be here at their rendezvous, waiting for him with their child! **William will be freed of the **_**Dutchman**_**, because love can break a curse**."

Bill slowly raised his eyes towards Calypso, not daring to believe what he had just heard.

"W-What did you s-say?"

"I've said the truth, William Turner the elder: **curses can't resist the power of love**. When Hector Barbossa abducted Elizabeth, William rushed to her rescue with Witty Jack in tow. During the trip, he learned the truth about your illegal activities but, worst of it all, your condemnation to eternal torments at the bottom of the sea. So William sprinkled his blood above the Chest of Cortez, but it wasn't only because of his feelings towards Elizabeth: it was also to end your sufferings, since he couldn't rescue you at the time. He faced mortal perils to break the Aztec Gold curse, out of love for his estranged father and his future wife. And he broke Jones' oath for the same reasons."

A silence followed Calypso's declaration, only broken by the soft sound of Bootstrap Bill kissing his son's head.

"Love is guiding your child, and it is a rare gift. Cynics may mock human feelings all day long; but the most hardened of them would sell their souls in an instant to be able to give and receive love like your William does. As for your fears about him being bound to the _Dutchman_, let me ease them by reminding you this: there is a big difference between _**destiny**_ and _**doom**_. Your son had a touch of _**destiny**_ with this ship, but it doesn't mean he is _**doomed**_ to remain forever on it."

Calypso's tone of voice changed to become dreamy:

"Centuries ago, when I was a young nymph, I found a man washed ashore on my island Ogygia, after his ship had been struck down by a thunderbolt. He was tall, handsome and brave, with a touch of destiny about him. True to my name, which means _"I will conceal"_ in English, I hid this man's presence from the prying eyes of the gods. For seven years, I kept him on Ogygia and I offered him everything a man would dream of: my love, wealth, immortality, if only he'd agree to become my husband. But he couldn't accept because he belonged to another woman… his beloved wife, who was patiently waiting for him against all odds. Finally, I let him go… because this man had a great destiny, but not a bad doom. His name was Ulysses, King of Ithaca."

Bootstrap Bill gasped at those words, remembering clearly the books Jack used to have in his cabin, during his captaincy of the _Black Pearl_. In the evenings, Sparrow would read out loud chapters of the _"Odyssey"_ and the older man had enjoyed the stories tremendously. Jack had always said his favorite shipmate was a good listener…

"Have you heard about Ulysses?" asked Calypso.

"Jack read me some parts of the _"Odyssey"_ book, years ago."

"Ah, yes, that famous book. Well, your son, named _"The Prince of the Oceans"_ by Ammand the Corsair, has a destiny similar to the great Ulysses. No matter how many hardships he will encounter, nothing or no one can prevent his liberation by Elizabeth's true love, not even me! That's why I've told you earlier that I couldn't harm your son in any way. Like the legendary King of Ithaca, I can't have him… but at least, I can protect him."

The woman/goddess smiled gently at the towering man, and then she took out the gold chain which was tucked under her gown's bodice. Much to Bill's astonishment, two diamonds were hanging from the golden necklace! Two sparkling gems cut in the shapes of a drop, and looking extremely familiar…

"Do you remember those stones, William Turner the elder?"

Bill remained speechless for a minute. Of course, he would recognize those diamonds in a million of other ones! But how did Calypso manage to retrieve them? He had been certain they were lost forever in the ocean, engulfed in the maelstrom's whirlpool!

"These… These are mine, aren't they? The diamonds I've lost after I placed Will's heart in the Dead Man's Chest. They ricocheted on the _Dutchman_'s main deck just before falling into the sea…"

"Aye, and they stopped my wrath. I was roaring in fury at the bottom of the whirlpool, cursing every man present for Jones' double treason, when suddenly these two stones fell towards me. Two insignificant, tiny particles, but they were shining like twin stars in the depths' darkness. I caught them and I felt an immeasurable sorrow emanating from those gems; then, I knew they came from a man who had to take awful measures to save his son's life. Those diamonds were a testimony of what had happened aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, and I raised my eyes to see the vessel sinking. I ended the maelstrom at once, and fortunately it hadn't been too late: the _Dutchman_ resurfaced, just in time to send Cutler Beckett to the Locker. I've kept those diamonds on me since that day to remember a courageous young man and how it was up to me, a troublemaking deity, to make sure he'd be rewarded at the end of his ten-year duty."

Calypso's eyes suddenly hardened, and Bill felt an icy-cold shiver of fear running down his spine.

"Any scoundrel who will dare to raise a hand against your son will earn my wrath, as Red Hand Pete has learned it the hard way. That miserable torturer, that greedy swine! He had been clever to sever your son's connection with the sea so I wouldn't know of his abduction. But he hadn't been intelligent enough to avoid the traps set by Witty Jack, who had found a way to call me to the rescue!"

The woman threw her head back and let out a growl, reminding Bill of the strange sounds he had heard just before the humpback whale had jumped on the _Conqueror_. But then, Calypso's expression softened and she walked back towards the bunk. This time, Bill didn't recoil in fright. In a swift movement, she joined her hands just before opening them: a flood of pearls and coral came out from her palms to fall on Will's bed, while she said:

_"Happy the man who, like Ulysses, went_

_Sailing afar; or him who won the fleece,_

_Then, wise and worldly grown, returned to Greece,_

_Amongst his own, to live and die content!"_

The pouring gems landed gently on Will, covering his bandaged arms and torso, and he moved slightly under the heathen goddess' gift. The pearls were large, perfectly rounded, with flawless surface. Their luster gleamed under the candlelight, enhancing the pearls' large variety of colors: white, pink, blue, champagne, green, purple and black. The polished coral was cut in cabochons and beads with tints varying from pale pink to deep red. There were enough gems to make jewelry worthy to adorn a royal person!

"Please give those to your wife with my regards, William, Prince of the Oceans!" said Calypso.

This instantaneous fortune would have been enough to make a lesser man loose his mind from greed. But Bootstrap Bill never released his hold on Will; although he appreciated these presents for his son, he would rather see Calypso accomplish a prodigy to make the wounds scarring his Little One's body disappear. He turned about to ask for her help, but suddenly the little crabs reappeared on her gown, her neck and her face: she was getting ready to turn into a flock of crustaceans again!

"NO! PLEASE WAIT! Will is injured… Please, can you heal his wounds?"

"It is not for me to do so, regrettably. Only you can do it," answered the incarnation, letting the crabs invade her human form.

"Me? But I am not a physician! Please, don't go… don't leave! I'll do anything if you help Will, anything!"

"William Turner the elder, you have the power within you to make your son whole again. His mind has fallen into a void of darkness from the pain caused by Red Hand Pete's tortures; you have to pull him out of this abyss and he will know that he is saved, and safe with you."

"But how? HOW?"

"The answer is in your heart…" It was said in a whisper just before the pile of crabs crumbled and fell on the Great Cabin's floor. The critters rushed to the open window in a flurry of little, pointed legs tapping against the plank like a man absently drumming his fingers, and in less than a minute the last crustacean had fled outside, leaving behind them a very confused Bootstrap Bill Turner.

What in the world had that woman… goddess… whoever wanted to mean? Oh, how Bill hated riddles like these! Why those supernatural "people" never explained matters plainly? During his readings of _"The Odyssey"_, Jack had told him many times that mythological creatures often talked in enigmas to challenge heroes. But Bill Turner had never considered himself worthy of this title, far from it: to him, he was only a stupid, clueless merchant sailor who had made wrong choices years ago, thus needlessly endangering his family. And Calypso had disappeared, leaving only gems that couldn't help Will and a cryptic answer. What on Earth was his father supposed to do?

Bill gritted his teeth, desperately trying to make his brains work. He was still cradling his son's head in his arms and he felt tears gathering in his eyes: Will was still deeply unconscious and the injuries on his face looked terrible. Bootstrap had cleaned him, dressed his wounds and given him some fresh water to drink… He had done everything he could think of to make Will feel better, but obviously it hadn't been enough. But how could he find a cure for his child's coma? Would Red Hand Pete win, even in death?

Calypso had said the answer was in his heart… What could it mean? Too bad Jack hadn't been present during their conversation; the cunning fellow would have solved the riddle in less time than it would take him to empty a flagon of rum. That incorrigible boozer!

Bootstrap Bill suddenly gasped as realization hit him with the force of a mainmast crashing down on the deck.

_The answer was in his heart…._

"Oh, God's breath," whispered Bill Turner, "She was referring to… _THE SECRET!_"

TBC…


	29. Hello, sunshine

**Disclaimer: **still the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- I solemnly swear there are no cliffhangers in this chapter! :oD

- To Ana: Chapter 28 had to have less action… to explain this chapter better, LOL!

- This chapter contains references to one of my stories, _"Sealed with a kiss"_.

- In Latin, _"Flagrante delicto"_ means _"Being caught on the act"_.

- Ultra-smarmy! Read at your own risks! ;-)

* * *

**Chapter ****29: Hello, sunshine**

_Inside the Great Cabin__…_

_The secret! Calypso was talking about the secret!_

Bootstrap Bill Turner called himself the all-time champion of idiots. Even though Calypso had disappeared only a moment ago, he should have found out earlier what the heathen deity had meant in her cryptic answer! Maybe Jack was right, maybe he should sign up for lessons of intelligence from a master; as crazy-looking as he was, Jack had brains inside his skull and Heavens know his abilities to use them, especially in times of great perils. He would have found the solution in a snap! William would be saved already!

But it wasn't the time for Bill to linger in the fields of his usual self-deprecation. After his son would awaken, he'd ask forgiveness for not having the idea to heal Will sooner; right now, he had more urgent tasks to accomplish, and woe to anyone who would try to disturb him. The _Flying Dutchman_ could sink on the spot, vanquished by Red Hand Pete's cannonballs and his crewmembers' inertia and Bill wouldn't have given a damn about it!

The elder Turner slipped his left arm under Will's neck, slowly lifting the cherished head. In this half-seated position, the young man was cradled in his father's embrace and his right ear was pressed against Bootstrap's wine-colored shirt… next to his heart.

"Listen to _**our**_ secret, my love," said Bill with a hoarse voice, stroking the wounded face with a feather-like touch. "Listen to our secret and know you are safe."

"_The secret"_… It was something shared by the Turners since Will became the commander of the ghost ship. The young man had nearly died from a sword wound inflicted by Davy Jones, and his father, incapacitated at the time, hadn't been able to prevent it. Only Jack had the presence of mind to place his broken sword into Will's hand and guide it to Jones' corrupted heart, killing the monster and saving the younger Turner's life… at the costs of having his own heart locked in the Dead Man's Chest.

William had become a walking miracle: he was able to live without a physical heart and his love hadn't been corrupted by bitterness or resentment, since both of them were fiercely protected by his adoring Elizabeth. But at times, he missed not having a pulse, especially in the quietness of the nights where his "heartless" state would perturb his dreams. It had been where his father had stepped up, offering Will to listen to his own heart whenever he needed to do so: it would console the young man and reinforce the beautiful relationship he had developed with Bootstrap Bill, making up for the older man's absence.

These "heart-listening" sessions, always done during hugs, had truly helped Will through his ten-year-long duty. Each time, Will thanked his father for his affection and his thoughtfulness but Bill would always reply that the organ thumping inside his body truly belonged to his William, that it had been placed in the elder Turner's chest by an aberration of Mother Nature – and the youngster would laugh, telling Bill he was the best father of the world and that his heart was big enough for two men.

Bill's rhythm of life had greatly helped Will, soothing his sorrow of being separated from Elizabeth and aiding him to accept his decade-long supernatural duty. This "heart-listening" had become the secret of the Turners, father and son, and for the past five years Will had remained a beautiful human being, full of compassion, love and altruism – and the _Flying Dutchman_'s aspect would reflect the youngster's shining soul. Bootstrap had often overheard the _Dutchman_'s shipmates wondering why the young Turner hadn't turned into a venomous creature like Davy Jones, and some of them had even suggested that Will had a "second heart" hidden in his chest. This hypothesis wasn't far from the truth, though – simply, the sailors were mistaken about its location: it was beating inside Bill's torso.

Calypso had said the answer to Will's healing was in his father's heart; its thumping already allowed the young man to endure his decade-long duty aboard the _Flying Dutchman_… so maybe it could help Will to awake from his coma, and give him back his powers now that he was freed from the soil and saved from Red Hand Pete's clutches?

"Oh, God, please let it be so," whispered Bill. "Please, let the sounds of my worn-out heart be the key to his recovery!"

The elder Turner hugged Will, keeping the young man's head close to his chest in the hopes to increase his child's chances to hear his heartbeat.

_Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump…_

* * *

Will's consciousness had drowned into the depths of a lightless ocean.

He wasn't afraid, in fact the dark was peaceful; there were no harsh lights, loud sounds, terrible smells and, above everything else, no excruciating pains. Will's mind had plunged into an abyss and here, nobody could find him. No one could reach him as long as he stayed hidden in the sweet blackness. He had to remain here because some people wanted to hurt him. Will couldn't remember who they were, or what had been their motivations; he only had a vague recollection of distorted images, like the face of a man with bloodshot aquamarine eyes, flashes of steel, a crate, explosions… it didn't make any sense and Will renounced to sort out these memories. It could only bring him pain and in the soft, enveloping dark waters, he was safe.

Will was falling into an endless chasm, leading to the center of the Earth where he would be lost forever. He sank deeper into the sea's entrails, unable to move, to think, to struggle. His very few memories were being erased, replaced by a total blank. All his emotions, his fears, his energy had disappeared after he had entered the darkness. No lights, no movements, no life ever perturbed it and the emptiness was hypnotizing.

The abyss called to him: _Come… I will protect you… Be mine…_

Will followed the beaconing; he had to protect himself, even if he couldn't remember why. In the void, he'd be sheltered from harm and danger and from the half-faded images which flashed before his eyes at times. He didn't want those memories; he didn't want anything. He liked being here. He longed for safety and he was going to get it in the bewitching void, which was promising him eternal peace.

_Come to me… I'll take care of you…_

The calming gloom called to him with gentle words, and he couldn't ignore them. He needed protection and only the darkness could provide him with it. He couldn't remember the reasons why he needed sheltering, but it was unimportant. Will drifted down like an empty shell tossed into the sea. The abyss was telling him to go lower, even lower and he surrendered to the captivating obscurity of the bottomless pit…

… But…

… Something broke the silence…

… A murmur…

A faint murmur!

William Turner Jr. barely moved. That was impossible; sounds couldn't exist inside the protecting cocoon of the waters. The ocean was a world of silence filled with mute creatures, living their lives with a ghost-like stealth. He must have mistaken. The abyss called him again and it seemed annoyed by the interruption; Will didn't want to make it wait.

_Th-thump…_

But the murmur stopped Will from sinking deeper into the void. It was a soft, regular sound and the young man couldn't help but feel intrigued by it. How could it happen here, in the gloom where nothing could exist? And yet, something or someone had succeeded in breaching into the eternal quietness…

_Th-thump…_

The noise became more discernable, and Will's confusion increased: it sounded like he had heard it before. But from where? Was the answer locked in one of his memories? But he didn't want to remember. It hurt to think, and it could bring the hostile creatures back. Will just wanted oblivion and he could get it so easily… all he had to do was to sink inside the chasm until he'd reach the perpetual obscurity, where he'd never be able to climb his way out of it.

_Th-thump…__ Th-thump…_

That sound again… it was _familiar_. And it was powerful enough to break the silence of the impenetrable darkness.

_Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump…_

Will understood this sound was important to him. It was perturbing the abyss' fascination on his mind, but it was also awakening some memories and this time, it wasn't painful.

_Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump…_

Images of the clear waters of the ocean… The sun high in the blue sky… Fluffy clouds looking like giant balls of cotton… The silvery glow of the full moon…

_Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump__…_

A ship dancing on the waves… White sails filled with winds… A hull jumping up and down… the lulling sensation of a moving floor beneath his feet…

_Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump… Th-thump…_

Will sighed and he moved his head almost imperceptibly. Strangely, the sound accelerated its rhythm!

_Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump!_ _Th-thump! Th-thump! _

What could it mean? Was the sound sensible to his movements? Was he linked to it?

* * *

_Inside the Great Cabin…_

Bill Turner felt his heart beating quicker against his ribs. Will had moved!

Cradled in his father's embrace, the young man had let out a soft sigh just before slightly shifting his head pressed against Bill's chest. The ex-pirate had almost forgotten to breathe after feeling that tiny spark of life! Did it mean that for once, Bill Turner had been right? Had he truly found the answer to Calypso's enigma? She said the cure to Will's wounds was in his heart, but would it be enough to heal the terrible injuries his Little One had sustained at the hands of Shiao Long?

Bill didn't dare to utter a word, scared that any noise could prevent Will to listen to his heartbeat. He swallowed with difficulty and he tightened his hold on his son, his lips moving in a silent prayer. Inside his torso, an organ was pumping blood inside his veins at a furious pace.

* * *

_No, no! Come back! __Only I can protect you!_

The blackness was calling him again, but this time Will didn't pay any attention to its calls. In fact, he could feel a force pulling him out of the abyss, slowly but steadily. The young man sighed again: this ascending motion didn't hurt him so he could trust it. In fact, the more he moved upwards, the better he could hear The Sound.

_Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump!_ _Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump!_ _Th-thump! Th-thump! _

Oh, how marvelous! Will had no idea where it came from, but it was filling his being with warmth, something the abyss had never provided him with. In fact, the idea of sinking in a dark pit seemed less and less appalling to the youngster. He wanted safety for sure, but he was becoming doubtful about the void's promises of protection from harm. The Sound was rapidly guiding him to clearer waters and, far away, William could hear the faint cries of the chasm, roaring in rage for being deprived of its prey.

_Come back!__ Come back here! At once!_

But its protests got muffled by The Sound, which was getting louder every time he listened to it. At the same time, Will found out he could breathe more easily, as if a crushing grip on his body had finally being lifted. Images flashed before his eyes like inside a kaleidoscope, entangled in each other and moving in every direction.

Seas the color of turquoises… sandy-white beaches… a seagull crying in the sky… the faint taste of salt on his lips… a town nearby the ocean… Port Royal?

_Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump!_ _Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump!_ _Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump!_ _Th-thump! _

A beautiful young woman with blonde hair and hazel eyes… He couldn't have her… but he was married to her… Married?

_Th-thumpTh-thump__Th-thumpTh-thumpTh-thump!_

The Sound was reaching the point to become deafening, and for an instant Will was tempted to sink inside the abyss again. But he couldn't, because he was heading back to life, to love and the darkness was nothing but a grim, cold place where he would remain alone in an infinite tomb. He didn't want to die, he wanted to see the young woman again and the heartbeat was his guideline to the light…

Heartbeat?

_Th-thumpTh-thumpTh-thumpTh-thumpTh-thumpTh-thumpTh-thumpTh-thump!_

* * *

_Inside the Great Cabin…_

Bootstrap Bill knew he was near an anxiety attack, but he couldn't possibly care less. Will had moved again! The young man's bandaged hands had rustled on the blankets, disturbing some of Calypso's pearls and coral beads scattered on the wool; his head had pressed itself more closely against Bill's shirt… and each time, the elder Turner had thought his heart would burst out from his chest. It was working! Will had a chance to regain consciousness!

_Riiip._

Bill frowned at the noise: what on Earth was that? It sounded like tearing, but that was an absurd idea. There wasn't anybody inside the Great Cabin apart from him and Will, and why would one of the _Flying Dutchman_'s shipmates would tear apart some cloth? One rapid glance around confirmed to the First Mate that, indeed, the Turners were alone. Bill shook his head, thinking he had just imagined hearing things and put it on the account of his tiredness.

_Riiip._

Bootstrap's blue eyes widened in shock: this time, he had definitively heard it! But where could it come from? The sheets on the bed were new, as well as the blankets and the linen maintaining the dressings on Will's hands, arms and upper body so…

The bandages! One of the bandages tied to his son's right wrist had torn open!

For a moment, Bill thought he had lost his mind for sure. How in the world could a bandage be ripped like this? He had secured it to Will's wrist to make sure the dressings applied against the deep lacerations would hold. Maybe the linen he had used was of poor quality?

Bill took his son's right hand in his own to examine the ruined bandage, worried about compromised chances of recovery but then, much to his astonishment, he could see that the dressing underneath had also opened to reveal… perfect skin!

That was impossible! The wrist's flesh and tendons had been cut by the tight chains Red Hand Pete had used to shackle the young Captain. Bill Turner had seen the damages while he was tending to his William: the wound was deep enough to show the bones! He had known it would prevent his son from using his hands for weeks. But the wrist was now intact, looking as if it had never been chained. It was prodigious!

_Riiip._

Bootstrap jumped at the sound, and he frantically looked to determine which bandage had torn open like out of its own accord. This time, it was the one covering Will's right arm! With a trembling hand, Bill brushed away fragments of linen and dressings and he nearly busted out crying when he saw the arm faintly glowing beneath, completely healed of the wounds that had been inflicted by the Chinese torturer. There wasn't even a scar!

Will was slowly regaining the powers he had been bestowed with after he had become the new and real Master of the Seas. Bill remembered how Jones could recover from injuries within minutes, every time crushing his crew's silent hopes that their gaoler would finally meet his end. During the maelstrom battle, Jack had cut off some of the tentacles composing Jones' beard and the severed "limbs" had crawled on the deck, very determined to get fixed back on the hideous face.

William had inherited of this ability to heal with his supernatural captaincy, even if the _Flying Dutchman_ was a peaceful soul-carrier again. But aboard a ship, accidents could happen anytime and the well-being of the ship depended on its Captain's. Two years ago, Will had accidentally cut his hand and the whole crew had yelled in horror at the very idea of their young leader being hurt, thus compromising the safety of the _Dutchman_ – but a minute later, the wound had disappeared, as if it had never existed!

And the healing gift was back, fueled by Bill's heartbeat and Will's fight to regain consciousness. This incredible talent, a part of the Master of the Seas' powers, was making the bandages and dressings pointless and it explained why they were magically eliminated.

_Riiip._

Another bandage had torn open, right under Bootstrap's incredulous eyes; this time, it had been the one covering the young Turner's right hand. The broken fingers, which had been bending at unnatural angles, straightened back to their normal shapes. The nails that had been pulled out – one of Long's worst tortures – were replaced by new ones, growing at an incredible speed!

"Oh, Little One, you're healing! You're healing," said Bill Turner, softly kissing the dark mane of hair resting in the crook of his arm.

* * *

_Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump!_

Will was swimming in clear waters now, the dark abyss completely forgotten. He was heading for the surface, his ears filled by The Sound, the heartbeat that was getting so loud, oh so loud! But it was wonderful and he couldn't help but following it. The images were getting more and more numerous, but Will knew they were his memories and he welcomed them, either good or bad.

_Flash._

A humble home in England… His beautiful and wise mother… Letters from his father…

_Flash._

His Mama dying suddenly… Working as a cabin boy in a ship departing for the Caribbean…

_Flash._

An attack by a black ship… Loosing consciousness… A girl taking care of him… Elizabeth!

_Flash._

I am Captain Jack Sparrow! You've heard about me, haven't you, whelp?

_Flash._

Isla de Muerta… The Chest of Cortez… The Aztecan gold curse… Barbossa!

_Flash._

A ruined wedding… Becket, snickering behind his desk… Retrieve Sparrow's compass…

_Flash._

The _Flying Dutchman_… Davy Jones… Bootstrap Bill, his father!

_Flash._

Tia Dalma… Singapore… Drowning in a bath… Sao Feng, the ends of the world…

_Flash._

Jack and the _Black Pearl_… An armada at their heels… A trap for Becket…

_Flash._

The maelstrom battle… Will you marry me? An explosion of pain inside his chest… Dying…

_Flash._

A sandy beach… Love… It has always belonged to you… A promise…

Will Turner wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. It was his life he was seeing; his mind was finally getting freed from the grips of unconsciousness. The heartbeat he was listening to acted like a lighthouse illuminating the sea in the darkest night, chasing away fears and ghosts to guide the lost young man to awareness.

_Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump!_

* * *

_Inside the Great Cabin…_

Bootstrap Bill Turner was softly weeping while holding his William's head against his heart; all the bandages he had carefully wrapped his son with had been torn open, but he had never been happier to have worked for nothing! He had tossed on the floor all the shredded scraps of linen and, to his greatest joy, the cruelties inflicted by Red Hand Pete and his Chinese minion had entirely disappeared!

His throat tightened by emotion, Bill had partially removed the sheets and blankets for a minute to check on his son, and then he had silently thanked the Heavens: Will's body was fully restored. His tall, muscled frame was glowing against the whiteness of the bed sheets, revealing perfect limbs and flawless skin. The cuts, whiplashes, bruises and puncture wounds were all gone – apart from the red scar on his chest, the mark of the sacrifice he had made to save his old man.

Bootstrap covered his son with the bedding again and he combed the dark locks of hair with his fingers: they felt silk-like, as if they had been freshly washed. As for his face, Will was handsomer than ever: the bruises that had marked the high cheekbones were gone, the broken nose was straightened, the split lips had somehow knitted back together and the cuts on the eyebrows' arch had vanished without a trace. He was breathing more quickly now, and Bill knew it was the tell-tale sign of somebody who would wake up soon.

* * *

_Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump-Th-thump!_

Will was just beneath the surface now, swimming in sparkling waters where rays of sunshine were dancing between the waves. He was so close to the location of the heartbeat! He had to find it; he knew it was precious to him! It was the sound of the life of… of…

His father?

Will Turner suddenly gasped: it couldn't be his father! Bill was dead! Someone had told him his father was dead… Someone with blue-green eyes…

The young man moaned feebly as images flashed again inside his mind, and this time they were terrible!

_Flash._

A soul's cry… A brig… Falling into a crate full of soil!

_Flash._

Suffocation… Sailors with hyena-like faces… His clothes torn off his body…

_Flash._

Red Hand Pete… The _Dutchman_ has sunk… The Dead Man's Chest and the key, Turner, where are they?

_Flash._

Pain… Unbearable pain! An eternity of torture… The knives, the whip, the pliers, the needles, the red-hot poker…

_Flash._

Explosions… Kid brother of mine… Gunpowder… Sword-fighting…

Those images had been awful, but the heartbeat had helped the young Turner to endure them. This sound, filled with love, had calmed him; otherwise, he would have sunk back into the abyss' depths, too frightened by the recollection of his tormentors. Red Hand Pete had kidnapped him to steal the Dead Man's Chest, and he had ordered Long to torture him until he'd talk. Had he surrendered to pain? Had he confessed the location of the coffer?

Will drew breath again, and this time he opened his chocolate-colored eyes. He had to know where he was, if his enemies were still around, getting ready to hurt him again. Bright light hit his retinas and he blinked with shock, but it had been enough to chase away the last remnants of unconsciousness.

When he opened his eyelids again, his vision was distorted and he had to wait for a few minutes until it cleared. But his other senses provided him with reassurances: he was lying on a soft surface; clean sheets and blankets were covering his naked body; the smell of gunpowder was gone; his head was held against a warm wall and The Sound was hammering violently beneath it…

_**TH-THUMP**__**! TH-THUMP! Th-THUMP!**_

Will looked up, startled by such a loud beating: his eyes cleared and he saw the beloved face of Bootstrap Bill Turner, smiling at him.

"Hello, sunshine of my life. Welcome back," said the older man.

* * *

_On the _Flying Dutchman_'s main deck…_

"Who do I have to kill to get a drink in here?" grumbled Captain Jack Sparrow for the thousandth time between his gold-and-silver dentition.

Still no news from ol' Bootstrap, not much improvement on the deck, some of the _Dutchman_'s shipmates were still acting like loafers and still not a drop of rum ahead. All this was turning into a insult to Captain Sparrow's authority! Jack had wanted the ghost ship to be back to its normal state as a "Get-well-soon" present for Will, but it seemed to him his plans would be thwarted once again. And on top of everything else, his mastermind had run out of ideas to make another plan. Blame it on the rum withdrawal he had been forced to for three days straight! This had been the longest period of time Jack had lived through without his favorite beverage; even in jail, he had always found a bribable warden who would accept to smuggle a flagon between the bars of his cell in exchange of a few coins.

But here on the _Dutchman_, there wasn't any rum aboard and Jack was feeling desperate. The water given to him by McCarthy had drenched his thirst for sure, but he longed for something stronger that would allow him to celebrate his stupendous victory over Red Hand Pete and his bunch of dead or cursed cowards. Such an accomplishment should be glorified by a firework of lightened rum bottles, to the least!

Sighing like a lost soul – which was appropriate aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ -, Jack got on his feet to lean on the ship's rail. Looking down, he could see his future crew sailing aimlessly in the _Sparrow Hawk_ and Ammand's longboat. Murtogg and Mullroy were staring at the immense ocean, their eyes as blank as their faces. Pintel and Ragetti had improved a card game, using one of the longboat's benches as a playing table. Aboard the _Sparrow Hawk_, Wang Tao was meditating, seated cross-legged in the lotus position with his eyes closed. Cotton was giving some biscuit crumbs to his winged pet and Marty waved at Jack, who saluted in return.

Then, something caught the attention of the bird-named pirate, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets: Ragetti was looking intensively at his cards as if he hoped to find the secret way to the Fountain of Youth in the badly-drawn figures, but Pintel had taken advantage of his acolyte's distraction to draw a leather flask from his belt and he was swinging it to his lips!

"HOLD IT!" roared Jack, pointing his pistol at the pot-bellied pirate.

Pintel froze, the flask just inches from his mouth. Ragetti looked up at his partner-in-crime with his usual expression of stupidity on his face. Wang Tao's eyes snapped open; Marty and Cotton had turned about to see what the commotion was about; only Murtogg and Mullroy hadn't noticed anything, mesmerized by a seagull which was diving repetitively into the ocean's waters.

"A-A-Aye, Cap'tain?" asked Pintel, staring nervously at the pistol aimed right at him.

"_Flagrante delicto!_ You are caught crimson-handed trying to drink from a portable recipient some beverage of alcoholic sort, without thinking to offer some to your rightful and highly-educated commander. This is a blatant act of mutiny! An open treason! A mockery of my authority! I should make you walk the plank right away for this unpardonable crime!"

The men looked at each other, trying to understand what Jack had wanted to say – except Wang Tao, who had a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. A dinghy and a longboat were way too low on the water to make anyone walk the plank, including the short-legged Marty!

"Beggin' yur pardon, Cap'tain, but whaddya mean?" asked Pintel.

"I mean, your eighteen-carat ignorant, that you were committing the act of drinking rum without sharing with your fellow comrades and, even worse, with the officer to whom you have agreed to obey his intelligent orders. Therefore, I am seriously considering perforating your anatomy with the help of a powder-powered weapon I happen to hold in my hand. I was complaining recently about not having the occasion to use this silver-decorated flintlock pistol and how rust was developing inside its barrel. So you're bringing me the occasion to compensate for the time it hadn't been fired, by immediately expediting you _ad patres_ for the ignominy you have deliberately perpetrated."

Pintel, Ragetti and the others' puzzlement seemed to increase every minute. Only Wang Tao had understood Jack's words, so he bowed in front of the balding scoundrel and said with a sarcastic tone:

"Please salute your ancestors from me, Mister Pintel!"

Cotton's parrot added its usual squawking comment: _"God speed!"_

The ex-member of Barbossa's crew was sweating abundantly; even if Jack's vocabulary was too complex for his tastes, he still had enough brains to understand he was in trouble, especially with a gun aimed at his face! With a groan and a grunt, he threw his flask in the direction of Captain Sparrow, who caught it deftly with his left hand. Jack smiled after his supplier, and then he uncorked the flask and poured its contents right into his mouth.

**RUM!** Oh, goody! And not the wrongly-distilled kind, either!

The alcohol vanished promptly inside the throat of the ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_, who eructed noisily before grinning down to Pintel.

"Well, well, well! I am inclined to suspend my judgment upon your head, my reluctant purveyor. Be thankful you have accurately-working taste buds, thus preventing you from buying cheap alcohol; otherwise, the consequences of your vile actions would have been quite severe. Just remember for the next few years that rum is drawn to the direction of Captain Jack Sparrow like iron filings to a magnet, savvy?"

And with those departing words, Jack turned around to supervise the work of the _Dutchman_'s shipmates. After he had disappeared from sight, Ragetti asked to his partner:

"What did Jack say? Are we leavin' now?"'

* * *

_Inside the Great Cabin…_

Will could hardly believe what he was seeing: his father was here!

"Papa…"

"Little One, my Little One!" said Bill, his face awash with tears and his sapphire eyes sparkling in joy: his son was looking at him! Will was saved! The ex-doomed sailor made a silent vow to thank Calypso for her help, by slipping a message into a bottle and tossing the lot to the sea.

"Papa?" whispered the younger Turner while raising a shaky hand to brush a tear-streaked cheek. He felt warm skin beneath his fingertips, the need for a shave and a regular breathing. "You're… a-alive?"

"Oh yes I am, my love! And so are you. You're alive, you're saved; we're aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. The monsters are dead, sent back to Hell where they came from and you have nothing to fear any more. You're safe, my wonderful darling, and all your enemies are gone."

Will blinked away tears, which ran down his temples: "You… You're alive! Oh, God! I thought… t-thought…"

"Will? What is upsetting you?" asked the elder Turner, brushing away a lock of hair from his son's face.

"Red 'and P-Pete… said the _D-Dutchman_ had… had sunk," said Will with difficulty, his throat hurting from thirst and screams. "Said the m-men… were d-dead…"

Bill's eyes turned as cold as ice: Red Hand Pete, you everlastingly damned bastard!

"He was wrong, my love. The _Conqueror_ fired at us right after you've been kidnapped and it did cripple the _Dutchman_, but then Red Hand Pete didn't bother to finish us off. The arrogant whoreson thought one hail of his cannonballs would be enough to send us to the depths, but he forgot one thing: this ship has seen worse damages during Jones' tyranny!"

"T-Thought you h-had d-d-died…" whispered Will. "L-Lost… hope…"

"Oh, my darling, it would take more than a few cannonballs to make me go down to the Locker! I'm an old fish, too tough to be cooked, and even the sharks would break their teeth on my carcass."

Bill very gently embraced his son against his broad, solid chest; Will melted in his arms, aware of the force, the love radiating from the older man like warmth and light created by a roaring fire. After days of painful torments in a dark and damp place, his father hugging him felt like a rebirth to Will. More tears escaped from his brown eyes but he couldn't stop them: the trauma of his capture, the torture sessions, the confusion of the boarding and the shock of Bootstrap Bill being alive, all this had made Will reach his breaking point and he sobbed silently, crying in relief for being saved from the _Conqueror_ and its evil commander.

His father cupped the back of his head with his hand and he tightened his hold, once again letting the young man listen to his heart. The elder Turner remained silent the whole time; as grown-up as he was, Will needed a good cry and no one but his father could provide him with the affection needed to rein in his emotions. After a few minutes, Will felt the flow of his tears drying and he raised his head to look at the elder Turner again. Bill smiled at him, and then he made Will lie down on the bed again. The young man was saved, but he was still very weak from his horrible experience – and there was also the fact that he hadn't had anything to eat and almost nothing to drink for about six days.

On an impulse, Bill kissed his son's forehead and then he turned about to fetch the young man some water. Will followed with his eyes the tall silhouette of the ex-pirate, as if he was afraid his father would vanish into thin air like a mirage. He raised his hand to ask Bill to come back, and then he suddenly gasped: his hand… was intact!

The younger Turner thought he was dreaming again: his fingers, broken one by one, had gained all their flexibility. The fingernails torn away by Shiao Long's pliers had been replaced by exact copies. The grime, blood and sweat had been washed away. The deep lacerations around his wrist, where the chain had dung in like a starving animal, were gone! Astonished, Will touched his face with trembling fingers but he couldn't feel any wounds or painful areas. His neck didn't hurt either – apart from his parched throat –, as if it had never been stabbed repetitively by long needles. Will looked down at his torso: all marks of injuries caused by the torture devices had disappeared!

Vertigo seized the young man and his head fell back on the pillow. His whole body was healed, as if he had never been captured and tortured. But how could it be? Will had certainly not dreamed the abominable hours he had spent in the Conqueror's orlop deck, buried to the waist in a crate and his arms chained upwards, at the mercy of his enemies. He would never forget Long's satisfied smile every time the young man had screamed in agony, or Red Hand Pete's foaming mouth while whipping him with the cat-o'-nine-tails. "Talk, damn you, talk!" had yelled the _Conqueror'_s Captain, and Will only had unconsciousness to help him escape from the mad-driving pain. He remembered the hungry eyes of the rats gathered around him, and him crying in despair…

"Will? What is it, son?" asked Bill, a cup filled with water in his hand.

"The w-wounds… g-gone!" answered the young Turner feebly, feeling like he'd faint again.

Bootstrap rushed to his son's side and presented the cup to his lips: Will drank gratefully, the fresh liquid soothing his aching throat and filling his empty stomach. The cup was removed from his mouth and he mourned the loss.

"M-More? Please?"

"You'll have another cup in a little while, my love. Drinking too much and too quickly in your weakened state could make you sick."

William would have appreciated some more water, but still he sensed the truth in his father's words. He sighed, and then he looked at Bill with his intense brown gaze.

"Papa… the wounds… they are a-all gone… How is it p-possible? D-did you heal them?"

"**You** did, thanks to that incredible love of yours, the same one that gives you the courage to endure your captaincy. The Master of the Seas can recover from any kind of injuries as long as he remains on the ocean or aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. But Davy Jones was only a scrap of seaweed compared to you, the hero who had been gifted with the same powers but who illuminates them with his love for his wife, his son and his sometime-stupid old man. After defeating Red Hand Pete, I.. er... I somehow got the idea to make you listen to "the secret", in the hopes you'd realize you were safe, back aboard the _Dutchman _and it would awaken your ability to heal."

Will grabbed his father's hand, his eyes full of pure gratitude.

"Your h-heartbeat… I h-heard it… Pulled m-me out of the… the darkness," said the young Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, feeling a warmth growing inside his torso at the place where his physical heart used to be.

"You've lost consciousness during the rescue, my William. Red Hand Pete had charged his Chinese executioner to make you confess the location of the Dead Man's Chest. But you haven't talked, Will!" added Bootstrap in a hurry after seeing a look of alarm on his son's face. "I swear it on your mother's grave: **you haven't talked**, in spite of the tortures those bastards had done to you. Elizabeth and Little William are safe."

"I-I lost h-hope, Papa… am s-s-sorry… should h-h-have known you'd c-come for me… How can I ever t-thank you?"

"You owe me nothing and you don't have to be sorry, Little One. Red Hand Pete was a madman and he wanted you to loose hope, so you'd give him the Dead Man's Chest in exchange of a quick death. But I've sworn to protect you and no one, not even the ghost of Davy Jones, can prevent me from doing so. Your bravery humbles me, and my only regret is I haven't been able to find you earlier. I got injured in the attack – not grievously, I can assure you – and when I came to, the _Conqueror_ was gone. We had no idea of its heading; that's why I asked Jack for his help, because I wouldn't have found you on my own."

"J-Jack?"

"Aye. He recruited Ammand the Corsair, his galley and his crew, along with a few other men we picked up on the way, and then he imagined an incredible plan to fool Red Hand Pete and rescue you from the _Conqueror_. And it worked, too! He's upstairs on the main deck, probably driving everyone crazy with his babbling about his incredible exploits while grumbling at the same time because there isn't any rum aboard the _Flying Dutchman_."

Will had a small laugh at his father's words, and then his hand felt something rolling on the blankets covering him. He looked down and saw some scattered pearls on the wool, amongst with coral beads.

"Papa? W-What are these?"

"The pearls and coral? Oh, that's a gift from a mysterious but nice lady. I'll tell you later about it. In fact, I'll tell the whole story of your rescue but right now, you need to get better. Let me give you some more water, and then you'll get some rest. Your wounds are healed, but you still have to recover. The crew will understand you need a few hours of sleep; you have endured an ordeal that would have killed a dozen men, and yet you have survived it with your love intact – and that's not an easy feat. Many men would have become angry and bitter if they had suffered only a quarter of the tortures you have endured. But not you, my marvelous darling, and thus you have vanquished Red Hand Pete once and for all. That miserable slug won't win from his watery grave because you, cherished child of mine, are what he couldn't even hope to be."

"Love you…"

"Love you too, my son. Now, I'd like you to drink some water and go to sleep. Can you do this for your old Papa?"

"Oh yes," whispered Will, his chocolate-colored eyes locked in the sky-blue gaze of his father, his guardian angel.

TBC…


	30. Brothers in arms

**Disclaimer: **still the same as before. I claim ownership on the characters of Red Hand Pete, Shiao Long and Wang Tao, though!

**Author's notes:**

- I haven't thought of writing a "Jack-and-Will reunion scene" when I started this story. I considered Jack would leave the _Flying Dutchman_ after Will was healed, since no one is accepted aboard the ghost ship, apart its crew and the soul passengers. But my kind reviewers have asked for a "Jack-and-Will" reunion, and I didn't want to disappoint them. So this chapter is dedicated to Calathiel of Mirkwood, Sonjadore, Acacia59601, The MarshmalloWizardGhostCookie and NorikuKitsune. You are the best!

- Very special thanks to Ariane Lim for her beta-reading!

- This chapter contains references of my stories _"For loving an angel"_ and _"In vino veritas"_.

- _"Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere cosas"_ is from Virgil and it means _"Happy the man who has found the secrets of things"_.

- I'm a confessed smarm-addict, so you know what to expect in this chapter ;-)

* * *

**Chapter ****30: Brothers in arms**

_Inside the Great Cabin__…_

Bootstrap Bill poured some more water in the tin cup, but he added some sugar and lemon juice to it; it would help Will's stomach to get used to food and juice after being starved for almost a week. He walked back towards the bed and supported his son's head with his hand while presenting the cup: Will drank gratefully, welcoming the sensation of cool water refreshing his mouth, his swollen tongue and his parched throat, washing away the terrible memories of the _Conqueror_ and its commander. It felt like life being poured back into his whole body!

After the cup was drained, Will hugged his father again and the older man very gently returned the embrace. Bill's heart was thudding as if it wanted to burst out of his ribcage to fix itself inside Will's chest, not that the former pirate would have minded the slightest. He was too happy holding his abducted child that he wouldn't even have noticed if the moon had fallen from the sky to crash down into the sea. Why would Bootstrap Bill care about anything, as long as his angel was back in his arms?

"Papa…"

"My love," said Bootstrap, expressing all his feelings by these two simple words. He had an endless supply of endearments for Will, and he would certainly never tire of using them to address his grown-up, adult son. Up on deck, the Turners had to respect a certain protocol in front of the crewmembers, and they always called one another other by the titles _"Captain" _and_ "Mister Turner"_ - but as soon as they were out of earshot, Bill would immediately change into his role of devoted father, confident and best friend and Will was grateful for being Bootstrap's son.

Cradling Will against his broad chest, the elder Turner felt a kiss being pressed on his tired face. He immediately answered by tightening his hold on his son, inwardly vowing to never, ever, let him go aboard another ship alone. As First Mate, he was supposed to mind the _Flying Dutchma_n during its Captain's absence but Red Hand Pete had changed all this. Bootstrap Bill would have to be chained and locked up in the brig to be stopped from following Will like a shadow.

Bill felt tears falling from his sly-blue eyes in a continuous flow to fall on the bedding with a soft sound: _plink… ka-plink… plink… _A long moment of silence followed and then, Will shifted in Bill's arms, chuckling slightly.

"Papa?"

"Aye, my darling?"

"I-I think some more gems h-have fallen o-onto my bed."

Bill lowered his gaze and instantly, his eyes widened: diamonds had fallen on the sheets and blankets covering his son. Iridescent particles shining on the wool and linen, enhancing by their sparks the pearls and coral left by Calypso. The ex-pirate blushed in embarassment: in his joy of cradling his son – his _living, awakened_ child, Bootstrap had forgotten about his "inner talent", the one he had acquired during his slavery aboard the _Dutchman_. Only Will knew about this metamorphic marvel... the same one that had allowed Bill to generously pay Ammand the Corsair for his help.

"Oh! Er... I'm sorry about this, son. It still happens every now and then."

"D-Don't be sorry, P-Papa," said Will, toying weakly with one of the diamonds tucked inside the folds of the blanket. "They are m-marvellous, and they c-come from your h-h-heart."

"You are the heart of my heart, William. That's why it belongs to you; it beats at the sound of your name and I will never cease to protect it."

Will unconsciously sighed, getting a bit sleepy again from his long ordeal. His body was healed and he wanted to hug his father for hours, but he was tiring rapidly. His capture had taken its toll on his mind and he needed to sleep, knowing he was safe, secure and loved. But before, he had one last thing to do...

"P-Papa? Will you p-please get J-Jack?"

"Jack? Sure, my love, but why now? Wouldn't you rather wait before you have rested?"

"I-I can't, Papa, b-b-because..."

At the same moment, the Great Cabin's window – the same one Bill had used to thrown outside the _Conqueror_'s Jolly Roger, and from whence Calypso had made her staggering _entrée_ and exit – opened widely under the push of a gust of wind, making some papers fall from a shelf. But then the window slammed shut and under the violence of the blow, one of the glass panels broke into a dozen pieces, startling the two men.

"Oh, damnit!" exclaimed Bootstrap Bill. "I should have locked that stupid window properly. How silly of me!"

"'Tis nothing, P-Papa," said Will, straightening up a bit in his father's arms.

"Maybe, but now I must pick up the glass shards; otherwise you may cut your feet on it. And the broken window panel will let rain and cold winds into your cabin."

"N-No, Papa. The _Dutchman_ has a-a Captain..."

Bill looked at his son, not understanding what he meant. Will smiled, and then he looked again at the shards scattered on the planks: Bootstrap followed his gaze and then, he almost forgot to breathe: the broken glass magically lifted from the wooden floor and went back to the window frame of its own accord, in a blink of an eye! The shards intertwined together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and in seconds all traces of breakage had disappeared, in the same way Will's wounds had vanished.

The elder Turner looked at his cradled William with round eyes, and then he mentally kicked himself: of course, the window would "mend"! The _Dutchman_'s state reflected its commander's and since Will had regained his healing powers, it could only mean the vessel would be back to its normal state again.

As on cue, a loud groan was heard and Bill suddenly felt the floor under his feet being "pulled" back to a horizontal level by a huge force. Red Hand Pete's attack had damaged the hull and even though McCarthy and his men had worked relentlessly to close the gaps, they hadn't been able to pump all the water out of the holds, thus disrupting the ship's equilibrium and weighting it. Another groan – like wood beams being lifted – was heard again, followed by a flowing sound and Bootstrap understood it was the accumulated seawater that was getting "expelled" from the keel. Like its Captain, the _Dutchman_ was healing and Bill was ready to bet it would return to its pristine appearance. But it also meant…

"The _Dutchman_ is becoming a soul-ferrying vessel again," said the elder Turner.

"Aye, Papa, and J-Jack won't be able to s-stay aboard f-for long," concluded Will.

Bill saw the sadness in his son's brown eyes: Jack Sparrow was a link to Will's past, but soon it would have to be severed – once more – because of his captaincy. The _Flying Dutchman_ would sail on waters where only its crewmembers and souls could go… at the costs of Will being separated from his friend, a mortal not allowed to remain amongst them. The same thing happened for Elizabeth, Will's beloved wife, and it had sentenced the newlyweds to a one-day honeymoon followed by ten years of exile. During Jones' reign, the _Dutchman_ was in a complete state of corruption so mortals had been able to climb onboard – Will, and then Beckett with his lackey Mercer, Admiral Norrington and a handful of Royal Marines that included Murtogg and Mullroy. But after the maelstrom battle, a pure heart had been placed in the Dead Man's Chest and all of Jones' villainies had vanished, but it had also barred mortals from accessing the _Duchman_ again.

Bootstrap felt the bitter taste of guilt invading his month; this situation was entirely his fault, he would never forgive himself for his past weaknesses, for not being strong enough to fight against Jones, for choosing a pirating career, for… for…

He suddenly felt a hand pressing his and Bill snapped out of his reverie: Will was looking at him with his calm, attentive brown eyes and the elder Turner blushed again. He had been caught in a blatant act of self-loathing!

"P-Papa, please… Could you get J-Jack?"

The ex-pirate was reluctant to release the hold he had on his son, but one look at Will's handsome face decided him to grant the request; he smiled, tucked one lock of dark brown hair behind the young man's ear and got up to fetch Captain Jack Sparrow.

* * *

_On the _Dutchman_'s main deck…_

Jack absently toyed with one of the pegs that had fallen from the wheel, improvising a lonely game of "spin-the-bottle" on the main deck's planks. The rum borrowed from Pintel had partly quenched his thirst but his mood was still somber: the _Flying Dutchman_ was still in ruins, nothing transpired from the Great Cabin and he wasn't sure of how long he could remain aboard the ghost ship. Of course, since he was Captain Jack Sparrow he could do anything, and that truism had been proven more than a thousand times. Nonetheless, he was feeling a bit worried about his stay on the soul vessel, and also he was let down by the lack of celebrations of his victory over Red Hand Pete and his worthless tormentor. After his victory on Beckett, Jack had celebrated for two days and nights with his favorite hired ladies and his indispensable drink; but here, in the middle of the ocean and aboard a ship without rum, the feasting opportunities were very low and he was getting bored!

"_Note to self: stock the holds of my future and new ship with nothing but rum, rum, rum,"_ thought Jack morosely.

The wheel's peg had stopped turning on the planks and Jack reached out to make it turn again, like his magical compass would do to indicate the greatest desire of his heart; but suddenly, the peg escaped from his hand to fly across the deck!

"What in the world…?" blurted Jack, his jet-black eyes rounded with surprise. The peg had jumped back on the wheel as if it were a living thing, capable of thinking for itself!

At the same moment, a loud groan was heard and the ship's rear lifted, alleviated of tons of water. Jack briefly thought that Calypso's humpback whale had come back to give them a push from below deck, but he dismissed the idea after seeing the Dutchman's sails becoming whiter and whiter, making the rips and dirt disappear. The missing yard-arms "grew" back on the masts like branches on a tree, but at an incredible speed. On the upper deck, every trace of Red Hand Pete's attack was erased: the shattered rails were replaced in a flash by brand-new beams, the bloodied and torn floor planks changed into immaculate ones, the gunpowder residues simply vanished. The ropes and the damaged ratlines, hanging aimlessly from the previously-broken yard-arms, tightened themselves like violin's strings. In less than a minute, the _Flying Dutchman_ turned from a floating disaster into a proud fluyt that had just left a shipyard… and all this without the intervention of a human hand.

"Yipes! Yo ho ho and a bottle of iced water!" exclaimed Jack. "Am I suffering from a bad case of _delirium tremens_? Apparently not, judging from the gob-smacked expressions displayed on the shipmates' faces, consequently their eyes should see the same images as I do. And this presents a problem: seasoned sailors like them, who have seen their share of horrors (with Jones) and supernatural sights (with Will) should have reached the point of being bewilderment-proof. Unfortunately, this recent display of spontaneous reconstruction followed by a rich variation of puzzled physiognomies leads me to the conclusion that this kind of phenomenon is quite rare. Oops! Now, all the copper parts composing the ship are freed from all traces of verdigris! Can you smell that wondrous scent of a ship being cleaned from top to bottom and getting even cleaner that some of its crewmembers? The _Dutchman_ is now as good as new! But from all this incredible mending, the most astonishing fact is that none of it has been done by the ship's stunned workforce, and this tells me…"

Some of the _Dutchman_'s crewmembers had gathered around Jack, trying to understand what the pirate was saying.

"Tells yu what, Cap'tain Sparrow?" asked Jimmy Legs, the quartermaster.

"Tells me, my good man who looks a lot better without your whip, that your ship is somehow getting driven by a force that has been lacking quite a lot lately, savvy? Something the _Dutchman_ cannot exist without or, should I better say, someone who has been the living heart of this vessel for five years now, who has allowed you to regain both your human forms and your souls… and who has led you to the path of redemption and forgiveness?"

A silence followed Jack's words, and then all the sailors turned their heads in the direction of the Captain's quarters. As on cue, the Great Cabin's door opened and Bootstrap Bill emerged from it. The big man looked around, apparently not confused at all by the ghost ship being back to its normal state in less than an hour, or by the men staring at him. He smiled, and then he said three words:

"He is awake."

A loud roar of joy rang across the _Flying Dutchman_, and the sailors threw in the air various items in a sudden burst of energy: knitted caps, tools, old boots and empty bottles, all this in a cacophony of yells and screams in the direction of the cloudless sky.

"Long live Cap'tain Turner!"

"Hurrah for Captain Turner!"

"We're saved, mates! The _Dutchman_ has its Captain!"

"Cap'tain Turner is feeling better! The _Dutchman_ **is** better!"

"He's awake! Thank God! We have our Cap'tain back! YAHOOO!"

Jack's voice could barely be heard in the tumult, but it didn't stop him from proclaiming out loud:

"You have been the privileged witnesses of another exploit accomplished by the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow! My extraordinary intellect has orchestrated a brainy scheme to free your commander, and thus his returned presence aboard has allowed a prompt and thorough repair of your ship. Consequently, you can consider you all owe me your lives, mates, since without my brains, it would have taken too long for you distressed sailors to make a plan and that piece of refuse Red Hand Pete would have furthermore tormented your Captain. In case you haven't noticed, that villain wanted nothing more or less than the Dead Man's Chest to become your new leader; can you imagine the desolation that rascal would have spread? But your commander resisted torture because he knew I would come to his rescue, me the mind-blowing Captain Jack Sparrow! I hypnotized Red Hand Pete like a snake would do to a flea-infested rat, and then I lead him to an island full of items spelling eternal doom, just before having the presence of mind to call a lady of high influence who takes her protective role quite seriously. Don't you think I deserve some cheers? I vanquished Red Hand Pete almost all by myself! Ah, I am too modest: my mastermind has provided once more the perfect solution to a situation of extreme danger, so I can proudly say I have vanquished Red Hand Pete all by myself. I am the genius of all the pirates of the Caribbean! Woe to the enemies of Captain Turner, because he happens to be the young brother of…"

A heavy hand grabbed Jack by the shoulder, making him jump a feet from the upper deck.

"… Captain Jack Sparrow?" finished the scruffiest pirate in history in a lower voice.

Jack's tirade had completely passed unnoticed by the _Dutchman_'s crewmembers; they were too busy cheering and pounding each other's backs out of relief. Their commander had awakened, the ship was seaworthy again; the shadow of Davy Jones' rules had disappeared like mist under the sun! But before Jack could be offended by the sailors' attitude towards him, he realized the hand on his shoulder belonged to Bootstrap Bill.

"Come with me, Jack," said the elder Turner gently. "Will wants to talk to you."

* * *

_Inside the Great Cabin…_

Will was slowly moving his legs beneath his bedding, inwardly rejoicing about his lower body not hurting any more. He would never forget the crushing sensation he had suffered for days, when he had been buried waist-deep in a big crate filled with soil. The pain had been unbearable; it had felt as if a giant shark had grabbed him in its powerful jaws and its razor-sharp teeth had relentlessly dug in his flesh. And yet, it had been nothing compared to Shiao Long's torture sessions: the smug look on the Chinaman's face whenever Will had screamed… the dark eyes shining in pleasure at each wound inflicted on the prisoner… the sadistic laughter resounding in the darkness of the _Conqueror_'s orlop deck…

Will moaned in anguish, and some tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. He wished for his father's soothing presence. The young Turner knew he was back aboard the _Dutchman_ and his powers had been returned to him – the magically-repaired window was proof enough, as well as his healed injuries and the loud shouts of joy from his crew that he had heard outside his cabin's door – but his mind was slower to acknowledge that his ordeal was over. When he had awakened, Bill had been at his bedside and he had felt protected by his father's love and caring. But now, alone in the Great Cabin, Will was haunted by the dreadful memories of his captivity and he longed for Bootstrap's arms around him.

The Great Cabin's door suddenly opened with a thunderous noise; Will looked up to see Jack standing in the frame, with his inseparable tricorn hat on his head, his usual shabby-dandy looks and his huge black eyes shining in his face.

"Shiver me timbers, whelp! You're awake and healed. Everything's right, tight, and shipshape, eh?"

"J-Jack," said Will with a smile. He tried to prop himself on one elbow but the ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_ didn't leave him enough time to do so. He rushed to the bunk and Will was caught in a powerful embrace smelling of gunpowder, metal and rum.

Bootstrap Bill closed the door behind him but remained inside the cabin; he didn't want to interrupt the reunion between the two friends but for the life of him, he couldn't let his son out of his sights for more than a minute. He seated on an armchair nearby the door and smiled at this extremely rare display of affection: Jack was actually hugging Will! Too bad there wasn't a painter around to immortalize this moment by sketching it.

"Gosh, kid, did you decide to make the extraordinary Captain Jack Sparrow die of fright? It wouldn't be a dignified end for the most sagacious pirate of the Caribbean, who has laughed in the face of mortal and immortal enemies alike!"

"S-Sorry, Jack…"

"Well, you Hellish whelp, you are lucky to be related to me, otherwise I cannot see who would have both the bravery and the brilliance to get you out of this mess. Red Hand Pete had one stroke of intelligence in his life, I'd give him that – but unfortunately, it was in finding the perfect way to cripple and shackle you. A crate full of dirt, the malevolent bastard! I would have force-fed him the contents of that crate with a baby spoon. And that disgusting little cockroach from China! I would have gutted him before throwing him to the sharks. But I am not dissatisfied with the unenviable fates of these two and the rest of the _Conqueror_'s crew. Serves them right, that's what I say!"

"Jack… T-Thank you for… your rescue…"

"Think nothing of it, baby bro," answered Sparrow, hugging his friend while his ring-adorned fingers got intertwined in Will's dark mane of hair. "I am glad ol' Bootstrap found me in Tortuga, otherwise I would have missed the party; I would have hated to miss such an opportunity to display my resourcefulness, believe me. But my latest exploits will be written in the annals of piracy in glittering letters, or my name isn't Captain Jack Sparrow! As soon as Bootstrap told me of your troubles, my superior mind was determined to find the perfect plan to save you from Red Hand Pete. However, an important piece of information was lacking in Bill's story: the nature of the chains used to keep you aboard the _Conqueror_. That missing link made an open attack impossible, out of fear of frightful consequences for you. Besides, the _Dutchman_ was crippled and it wouldn't have stood a chance against that brig. So, what did my bright grey matter whisper in the back of my skull?"

Will smiled, but said nothing.

"Well, whelp of mine, it whispered the following: _"If you can't beat them, join them"_. I went to see Red Hand Pete under a clever disguise, and shoved a lower-than-nonsense story right down his throat. With Captain Jack Sparrow, lying is a pure art form! Pete's tormentor was coming to nothing with you – no wonders here, you are my sibling – so I convinced him that ruse and intelligence would be more fruitful to make you confess the location of the Dead Man's Chest rather than Long's imbecilic brutality. So he invited me to climb aboard the _Conqueror_ and he nominated my humble person a new member of his crew. After another display of me being cunning like a fox, Red Hand Pete agreed to sail his ship right in the direction I wanted him to go… _Isla de Muerta_."

Will's chocolate-colored eyes went wide.

"You… what?"

"You heard me perfectly well! That blockhead fell right into my trap. First I made him ram his brig into a submerged reef, rending an eventual escape by sea impossible. Then I guided him to a certain cavern you and Lizzie know about, and it didn't fail: the greediest men of his crew stuffed their pockets with the gold coins stashed in the Chest of Cortez. They are now cursed with my regards, and I don't feel an ounce of remorse since those men were amongst the ones who had thoroughly enjoyed hearing your screams of pain. Then, last but not the least, I sailed back to the _Conqueror_, signaled to Bill and our allies to attack, delivered you from that god-damned crate and cut down every one standing on our way, with an elegance and agility impossible to imitate. Am I up to my reputation, Captain Turner?"

"You… did all t-this?"

"As sure as there is a moon in the sky and fishes in the ocean, I did! Well, to tell the whole truth, which is something I do quite often – and yet, people are always surprised – I received valuable help from Ammand the Corsair and his men, as well as from a maritime lady who firmly believes in the proverb saying that desperate times call for desperate measures. But I claim sole ownership on the knock-your-boots-off plan which succeeded in saving your life, savvy? But I must protest about one thing: there isn't a drop of rum aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, and that is properly scandalous. If you weren't my brother, I would have made you walk the plank!"

"But Jack… On t-the _Conqueror_… There w-was an old man a-and a little boy…"

"You mean Tony and Andy? Oh, don't cloud your mind with worries about them. I comprehended quickly that the boy had been used as bait, and the old man tried to help you in spite of being scared witless by Red Hand Pete. Since I am not – witless, I mean – I've made them evacuate the brig before its adequate destruction. After the _Conqueror_ was totaled, I saw Tony and Andy sailing away in a dinghy, heading for clearer waters."

Jack's attention got drawn by the gleaming pearls and gems scattered on Will's bed, and he let out a soft whistle of admiration.

"My, my! You are definitely full of surprises, William. Dare I ask where you have found those baubles?" asked Jack while he picked up a diamond from the gray wool weaving the blanket.

"The pearls and coral beads are a gift from Calypso," said Bootstrap Bill from the cabin's shadows. "She left them here so Will could give them to his wife in a few years."

"Oh, did she? How thoughtful of her – trying to make amends for the mess she has made with Davy Jones, no doubts. And not a moment too soon, in my opinion! But since that lady has been kind enough to send heavyweight reinforcements and to make the _Flying Dutchman_ appear in these waters, I will temporarily forget about her shortcomings…"

"What?" exclaimed the elder Turner from his chair, "Do you mean she was the one responsible for transporting the _Dutchman_ near the _Seref_?"

"Good grief, Bootstrap! Who else could have done it? My gifted intelligence is able to remove mountains, but only figuratively speaking. I certainly don't have enough mind power to drag your ship all the way from _Tres Rocas_ to here, much to my regret!"

Bill Turner looked absolutely flabbergasted by Jack's words: it was true the apparition of the _Dutchman_, right after the humpback whale had destroyed the _Conqueror_, had been extraordinary but he had been only focused on getting medical help for his son. Will had desperately needed to be aboard the ghost ship and the sooner, the better; so questioning the presence of the _Dutchman_ had never crossed the elder Turner's mind.

"J-Jack, what is… the _S-Seref_?" asked the young Captain.

"Huh? Oh, I'll tell you the story of your rescue later, kiddo," said Jack, his obsidian-colored eyes shining madly and fixed on the diamond he was holding between his thumb and his index finger. "Meanwhile, I'd like you to tell me where you have fished out those sparkling beauties…"

"JACK!" roared Bill from the other side of the Great Cabin. "These are mine."

Jack jumped slightly at the loud sound of voice, and the diamond dropped back on Will's bedding. Bill had gotten on his feet and his impressive size reminded Sparrow that the elder Turner could be quite efficient in hand-on-hand combat.

"Whoa! Let's not jump to hasty conclusions, Bootstrap! I have no intentions to pinch anything from this cabin or this ship. I'd just like to satisfy my curiosity about those gems, since you seem to have an endless supply of them and I know about that unhealthy streak of honesty running in the Turner's family tree: neither one of you would pillage a flotsam or a sunken ship."

The elder Turner looked at his son, still held against Jack's chest; Will agreed his father's silent question with a nod of the head.

"These diamonds are mine, Jack, because… they come from my eyes," said Bootstrap Bill.

"I beg your pardon?"

Bill looked at his William; his handsome, healed child, covered with blankets and held by the most famous silver-tongued pirate the world had ever known, but who just a few hours ago was bleeding and hurting in the _Conqueror_'s orlop deck. His son who had walked into a trap because he had wanted to help a little boy; who had been tortured mercilessly for days; who had suffered beyond words to protect his family… while his father had been unable to do anything to help him. It had taken the help of Sparrow, a Turkish Corsair with his men, a Chinese spy named Wang Tao and the intervention of a heathen goddess to save Will Turner. Otherwise, the elder Turner would have never retrieve the most important person of his life from Red Hand Pete's clutches… another failure to add in his sad story.

Jack felt a bit embarrassed when he saw tears shining in the big man's eyes; he had never saw Bill show any kind of emotion while serving before the _Black Pearl_'s mast. In fact, tears were just a proof of weakness for pirates, who prided themselves for being the toughest men sailing on God's free waters – so sentiments were prohibited for those hoisting the Jolly Roger. Bootstrap was a strong, courageous man who could fight bravely, but Jack would never have thought that he could also cry.

One tear escaped from Bill's eyes and rolled on his face, and then Jack gasped: the tiny drop of water had stopped its course on mid-way to… _**solidify**_ on the older man's left cheek? But before he could bombard his ex-shipmate with questions, Bootstrap picked the "crystal" off from his face to deposit it on the palm of Captain Sparrow's hand.

It was Jack's turn to be flabbergasted: _the tear had morphed into a diamond!_

"BILL! But on in Hell have you…? How is it possible? You… Your tears… you can…? Your tears are diamonds? But… that's impossible! How in the world do you expect me to believe this? I mean… I admit to currently suffering from a bad case of rum withdrawal, but… I've never heard of seeing strange things while being sober!"

"You are not seeing things, Jack. The first time it happened, I was locked up in the brig. Jones had forced me to watch the Kraken destroying a ship giving Will a ride, after the Dead Man's Chest key had been stolen from him. I was desperate. I was sure Will had been killed and I had nothing left to live for. I was shedding my last tears when suddenly… one of them turned into a gem. It gave me a little hope, but Jones' oath crushed my mind and it drove me to madness. After you defeated the monster, I thought this miracle would end but… it survived. I guess it is fueled by the love I bear for my William," concluded Bill Turner with a smile, feeling his heart beating quicker at the sight of his son's beaming face.

Jack had one arm wrapped around Will's shoulders; together they looked at the drop-shaped diamond, that incredible proof of Bill's pure feelings towards his son, shining in the lines crossing the palm of the pirate.

"Well, now I understand where your stones came from, the ones you used to pay Ammand with for his help._ "Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere cosas"_! But I have to admit you Turners are surprising folks; if you lot would sharpen your minds a little bit more, you could become as good as me, the world-famous Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Bill and Will chuckled: modesty really wasn't the strong suit of the extravagant rascal.

"K-Keep the diamond, Jack… I-If you like…"

"As tempting as this offer is, William, I regret I have to decline it. Those diamonds are Bill's. I have no scruples in borrowing some items from my acquaintances, and even less from my enemies – in fact, it is very funny to steal from enemies, you should try it someday – but I've never taken anything from a friend. Come to think about it, I've never had any real friends before you and your father; it took me a while to realize this and it has been one of the extremely rare occasions where I haven't been insanely intelligent. But Captain Sparrow isn't petty, and disputes over a diamond won't compromise our friendship. Here you go, Bootstrap!" concluded Jack, tossing the gem back to the elder Turner.

Bill caught the stone deftly and made it disappear in his pants' pocket. Jack had certainly changed since his careless days as commander of the _Black Pearl_ and the big man wondered if his stay in Davy Jones' Locker had somehow modified him; the Jack he remembered was as gold-obsessed like any other pirate, and now he was returning a diamond without a second thought!

"Well, infernal whelp, you look all in! Guess your stay on the _Conqueror_ had tired you a little bit. Would you like me to tell you the whole story of your rescue with abundant details, to make you reach Dreamland easily?" asked Jack, but suddenly a tidal wave of dizziness shook him from head to toes.

"Whoa! Another side-effect of my rum deprivation! I have always known drinking water wasn't good for my health. Bill, as a favor to your former Captain, could you please lead the _Dutchman_ to the nearest tavern? I'll lend you my compass, so we'd reach destination quicker."

"Jack, this discomfort isn't due to lack of rum," said the elder Turner. "The _Flying Dutchman_ is a ghost ship again now that Will is back and healed… you cannot stay onboard."

"I am Captain Jack Sparrow and I can do anything!" protested Jack haughtily. "Besides, I am also resurrected from the Locker and the rule about the _Dutchman_'s passengers doesn't apply to me – ow!"

The loquacious pirate grunted after a stomach cramp had almost made him double over. He hated to admit it, but he wasn't feeling very well: he was getting dizzy, his pulse was quickening, cold sweat was running down his spine and his vision was getting affected. But it couldn't be the flu, could it? Nor the swamp fever? Jack hadn't eaten anything spoiled during his stay on the _Conqueror_ and Pintel's rum had been absolutely drinkable. He rubbed his eyes with both hands, in the hopes it would help him, and then he saw the concerned eyes of the Turners locked on him.

"Jack, the _Dutchman_ is a ghost ship. You are neither dead nor dying, and you're not part of the crew. This is why you feel sick," said Bill.

"Sick? A capable man like me? Fie!" answered Jack while using his shirt's sleeve to mop his sweating brow.

"Believe me, it's true. I'd hate to see you go but if you linger, your discomfort will increase until you won't be able to stand on your feet."

"I find it hard to believe a scum like Beckett could strut about on the _Dutchman_'s deck like he owned the place while I, the magnificent Captain Sparrow, cannot stay as long as I want to!"

"Jones had forfeited his honor. Therefore, the _Flying Dutchman_ wasn't a soul-carrier any longer under his reign; mortals could climb aboard, but of course no one dared to do so. But Jones' betrayal backfired on him when it allowed Beckett to take over the _Dutchman_'s command: the East India bigwig threatened to destroy the Dead Man's Chest using two cannons if Jones refused to sink pirate ships. Beckett wrongly thought blackmail would be enough to impose his law, that's why he left Mercer with only a few Royal Marines to maintain surveillance on Jones."

"Ah! As if a handful of scared soldiers and a venomous clerk would constitute a sufficient force to chain that octopus-bearded walking piece of mucus!" grumbled Jack, repressing shivers which were shaking his whole slender frame.

"Aye, and Mercer learned that lesson the hard way. I remember Jones killing him by thrusting his tentacles into Mercer's mouth, nostrils and ears… It was awful. But as soon as Will became our leader, the _Dutchman_ has regained its true mission, so…" concluded Bill.

Jack knew his former shipmate was right, but he couldn't help but feel disappointment. He had wanted so much to tell Will the full story of his rescue, organized and supervised by the formidable pirate captain! Curse that stupid ten-year-long duty!

Bootstrap squeezed Jack's shoulder, and then he left the Great Cabin: if Sparrow had to leave the _Flying Dutchman_, his new crew had to get the dinghy and the longboat ready for him.

Jack sighed before looking at the young man lying in the bed.

"Well, I guess it's good-bye, then…"

"I-I'm s-sorry you c-can't stay…" whispered Will.

"None of this is your fault, kiddo, so don't apologize over things you cannot control. I would have loved to tell you how I've brilliantly fooled Red Hand Pete. But," said Jack, his luminous eyes hardening like volcanic stones, "I just want you to know this, Will: **I have never regretted sacrificing my bid for immortality to save your life**. Never, not even for a minute. When Jones wounded you, the only words that came to me were: _"No, not him"_. That's what the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow has thought. Jones figured out my affection for you, that's why he tried to kill you. He wanted to destroy my brother, simply out of spite. You have survived many dangers so I thought you were benefiting from my endless luck, but the events proved me wrong. When I saw you dying on the _Dutchman_'s deck, I… I just couldn't believe it. _"No, not him!"_ Those three words flashed inside my mind just before ol' Bootstrap attacked Jones; it allowed me to help you stab that rotten piece of meat which used to be his thump-thump."

Will extended his hand and Jack grabbed it gratefully, knowing that this time he wouldn't hurt his friend by accidentally squeezing a broken finger.

"I have no regrets, Will. You deserve to live. Like I've said in the _Conqueror_'s orlop deck, you're the only one who has convinced me that true friendship exists. You are a rare person and you are worthy to be my sibling. Even if that accursed duty bounds you to the _Dutchman_ for ten years, the good thing is it has healed all your wounds. Well, except for this one," said Sparrow, gesturing towards the long red scar on Will's chest. "But mark my words, whelp: in five years, it will disappear because you have chosen the right woman. Lizzie and you will break the curse and Davy Jones will be done the whole way!"

Jack exchanged a smile with his friend, and then another wave of dizziness washed upon him. He closed his eyes and started to count to ten, hoping it would suffice to make it disappear. But the discomfort stopped only after he had reached fifty-three, and his face looked as if it had been drained of blood. He had to go soon, but the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow couldn't leave without making one last proclamation:

"You may feel cheated by fate for the ten years you won't spend with Lizzie. Well, I'll tell you this: you will be compensated. And I am not talking about monetary values, kiddo – I'm talking about a surprise that will add extra years to your life span, allowing you and Lizzie to make up for lost times, through and through."

"J-Jack! But h-how can it… be p-possible?"

"I am Captain Jack Sparrow and I can do anything, including the impossible, that's how! But it's a promise I'm making to you, and I swear to respect it on **this**," and Jack partly opened his shirt to show a leather necklace holding three silver charms, and hidden beneath the garment.

Will felt his throat tightening at the sight; it was his necklace, the one he had left to his friend. He had found the ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_ completely drunk aboard a dinghy heading for nowhere, and passed out from excesses of rum and hallucinations. Realizing Jack had had a difficult moment dealing with demons from his past so Will had left him food, water and a memento to cheer the pirate up.

The young Turner had bought the necklace just before asking Governor Weathersby Swann for his daughter's hand in marriage, and Jack knew how much this item meant for Will. The scruffy pirate had never considered selling it, not even when money had been scarce and rum flagons rare, since Will's necklace was as precious to him as his magical compass. It was why Sparrow had wanted to swear an oath on his brother's memento.

Jack winked at Will, and then he stroke the young man's brow just before unsteadily getting on his feet. He grabbed at something near his left ear and pulled one of the trinkets he wore entangled in his wild hair: it was a small, engraved silver disk with three coral beads hanging from it. Jack slipped the object inside Will's hand.

"Here, baby bro. You'll need it to look like a real pirate. Take care of yourself and I'll give you my surprise after you have stepped foot on land and kissed the living daylights out of Lizzie, savvy? Love you, kid."

With those last departing words, Captain Jack Sparrow left the Great Cabin, blinking madly to chase that annoying mist that had gathered inside his eyes. He was deeply annoyed to leave his young brother so soon, and he wished he could throttle Davy Jones' ghost just for the principle of it. The bugger was still poisoning Jack's life and those of his relatives, even from the grave. But the weight of the leather pouch stashed beneath his shirt, containing his personal treasure, reminded him he had enough business ahead of him to not dwell into the realms of nostalgia. He had rum to find, a new ship to buy, a crew to select and a Fountain of Youth to seek.

The incomparable Captain Jack Sparrow smiled like a wolf in spite of the uneasiness he felt.

Oh yes, it will be quite a surprise for the young Turner couple. A wedding present as unforgettable as its bringer!

TBC…


	31. Sail away!

**Disclaimer: **the same as before.

**Author's notes:**

- This is it! The last chapter! I can't believe I've managed to write the whole stuff. _"A cry in the darkness"_ is my longest story so far, and I doubt I would have finished if not for the encouragements and words of praise from my wonderful reviewers. Since some of you have asked for a sequel, I will start to write one in a few weeks. It will be called _"Turners together"_; keep your eyes peeled!

- A big "Thank you" for Ariane Lim and her help, her beta-reading and her sharp eyes. You're the best!

- "_A pirate's life for me"_, lyrics by X Atencio, music by George Bruns.

- "_Danse macabre" _is French for _"Dance of Death"_: in the medieval times, painters often represented men and women dancing a farandole with skeletons. These paintings were called _"Danses macabres"_ and it was to remind people that they would end up in a grave, no matter how rich or influent they'd become in life.

- Ichthyology is the science of studying fishes.

* * *

**Chapter ****31: Sail away!**

_In the waters by the _Flying Dutchman_…_

A rope tied the _Sparrow Hawk_ to Ammand's longboat, and Jack turned about as the _Flying Dutchman_ sailed away from the two tiny boats. Bootstrap Bill was waving at him and he answered with his usual panache, trying very hard to ignore his hurting fingers – the older man had given him quite a bone-crushing handshake before Jack had left the ghost ship!

The silver-tongued pirate would never admit it out loud, but he was sad to leave the Turners behind him. Five years down, five to go before the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow could recruit Will, Lizzie and Bill to serve under the mast of his brand-new ship, the _Black Pearl II_. He would need real people – _real pirates_ – to help him accomplish his great projects, but he had to wait five more years before he could recruit the only people who had ever showed him affection and loyalty. Curse that stupid Davy Jones!

At least Jack had departed on good terms with the Turners, instead of being chased away by pistol shots, cannonballs or sharpened swords, as it had been the case various times with his former "associates". He could even say he had surpassed himself with this rescue mission: freeing his little brother while retrieving some rainy-day money, ridicule Red Hand Pete and summoning the help of a heathen deity at the same time, all this without getting a scratch on his body… he was definitively the unsurpassed Captain Jack Sparrow!

His new crewmembers were also watching the _Flying Dutchman_ distance itself from their boats, but none of them shared with their Captain his sense of loss. In fact, the guys seemed relieved to see the ghost ship departing – apart from Wang Tao, who seemed lost in his thoughts. Even with Davy Jones being gone for a long time, sailors were still weary of the _Dutchman_. No wonders here, that fluyt's name had been synonymous of death, slavery, abominable deformations and everlasting damnation. Will had worked hard to redeem the vessel's reputation but somehow, Jack got the feeling that the _Flying Dutchman_ would still be infamous for centuries to come.

Oh well, as he had once said to Gibbs about the _Black Peal_: _"It's only a ship, mate"_. Who cared if that floating bunch of planks carried a nasty reputation forever? As long as Will was freed from it after ten years, the _Dutchman_ could sink to the bottom of the sea for all Jack cared. In the past, he had considered taking over the command of the ghost ship in order to gain immortality; but it had been one of the exceptional occasions where Captain Jack Sparrow had been wrong. It hadn't been a good idea. In fact, being covered with shells and slowly melting into the _Dutchman_'s hull while losing his precious brains wasn't a good way to become eternal – but Jack had been too stubborn to admit it at the time. It had taken Will's fatal wounding to make Sparrow realize that immortality _à la Jones_ led only to anger and madness. Only a pure-hearted man – like his adopted baby brother – could survive being Captain of the ghost ship with his love and his soul intact... and then, his faithful bride would break the decade-long curse.

Jack waved one last time at Bootstrap Bill, and then the _Flying Dutchman_ slowly disappeared behind the horizon. Jack had kind of hoped Will would come on deck to wish him good-bye, but the kid had been too weak to get out of bed; Jack couldn't blame him for this, though: in fact, a man who had survived constant torture for a week while being starved and feverish, without confessing the location of a treasure, was worthy of being praised by all the Pirates of the world. Ammand knew it, as well as the _Dutchman_'s crew, so by all the hurricanes of the Caribbean isles, Will deserved a rest!

Jack was glad he had been allowed to share a few words with the kid. Of course, their reunion would have been better over a flagon of rum, but… Oh! Speaking of which….

The ex-Captain of the _Black Pearl_ snatched his compass out of his weapon belt and opened the lid. The disk turned on its axis three times, and then it stopped in the direction of the North-West.

"Ah, ha!" exclaimed Jack.

"What is it, Captain?" asked Marty.

Jack looked up and saw his new crewmembers looking at him with round eyes, while getting comfortable in the boats… and it wasn't easy. Murtogg, Mullroy, Pintel and Ragetti were in the longboat, vainly trying to gain some extra room on the benches. Marty, Cotton and Wang Tao were sharing the _Sparrow Hawk_ with Jack, and the dinghy was overcrowded – in fact, only Marty's short stature had allowed him to remain onboard, otherwise he would have had to transfer on the longboat. Nonetheless, the _Sparrow Hawk_ was at high risk to sink or to capsize under a violent gust of wind, so making port at all haste was an absolute necessity.

"Well, my stout – er, stout-hearted – fellow, it seems to me that a case of overpopulation is currently happening in our mighty boats. Since I'd hate to imitate any of Hector Barbossa's behavior, I will subsequently refrain from the action of throwing one or two of you overboard to relieve the aforesaid nautical marvels we are sailing in. Consequently, it should be a mark of great seamanship to order you lot to break your backs over the longboat's oars, all this to reach a patch of dry land named Tortuga where we'll all be able to step on it, thus preventing us from saluting our ancestors – quoting Mister Wang Tao – in a premature fashion, savvy?"

"What?" asked Pintel, obviously not understanding a word Jack was saying.

"Short and sweet: grab the oars, mates! We're heading for Tortuga!"

Murtogg and Mullroy obeyed at once and reached out for the oars, but Mullroy dropped one in the water and he almost capsized the longboat when he tried to retrieve it. His acolyte didn't fare any better after he accidentally hit Ragetti over the head with his oar – but it didn't knocked out the one-eyed man, since his brains were too tiny to be damaged by a direct hit on his skull.

"We're headin' for Tortuga, Cap'tain?" asked Pintel.

"Took your smart-potion today, haven't you, mate? My, you are making progress! So I expect you to continue your efforts by leaning on your paddle to propel our joyful company in the direction of the most extravagant island of the Caribbean!"

"But Cap'tain! Since a rope is tying our longboat to yur dinghy, it wuld be better if we go to Tortuga by using yur sail!" protested Ragetti. "It wuld be less tiring fer us!"

"What? The _Sparrow Hawk_'s sail will remain secured good and tight! In case you haven't noticed, you weird-looking scoundrel, my mighty boat is holding four passengers; however, it has been designed to carry only two persons. Therefore, the dinghy is currently in grave danger of ending floating belly-up, like a deceased animal belonging to the ichthyologic science branch. All this could be quite damageable for my shining personality! Consequently the _Sparrow Hawk_ will be towed by the longboat you are currently warming the benches of with your posterior, and the four of you will row hard until we've reached our destination, savvy?"

Ragetti remained agape for five long minutes, and finally he got the idea after Pintel told him to _"Stop babbling and start rowing, you stupid scarecrow! Or we'll be Tortuga in six months"_. He chuckled stupidly, grabbed an oar, and then he let it fall across his knees, looking completely puzzled.

"But Cap'tain… Does that mean Marty an' Cotton won't row wif us?"

Jack sighed loudly, burying his head in his hands. A handful of idiots, two tiny boats and not a drop of rum in the neighborhood… It was going to be a long trip!

"This thin-bodied and thin-brained specimen of a pirate used to be a member of your crew, Lord Captain Sparrow?" asked Wang Tao.

"A beauty, isn't he?" answered Jack, and then he shouted: "_**Silence!**_ The four of you in the longboat, row! I'll give you the direction to follow and with luck, we'll reach Tortuga in the evening. Now pull at the oars and soak your foul-smelling shirts with sweat, otherwise your pirating career will come to an abrupt end!"

Pintel and Ragetti grumbled for the form, but started rowing. It took a longer time for Murtogg and Mullroy to comprehend the mechanisms of their new tasks, but a few punches from their shipmates helped them to follow the rhythms of the man-powered mean of locomotion. The longboat headed for the direction of the North-West, pulling the _Sparrow Hawk_ along and soon, Pintel and Ragetti started their usual string of arguments.

"You're pulling too hard," complained Pintel.

"You're pulling too slow," answered Ragetti.

Jack rolled his eyes heavenwards: some things never changed!

"Please forgive me for asking a question, Lord Captain Sparrow, but I would like to be enlightened about our respective futures once we had reached the turtle-named island," said Wang Tao. "To be precise, I would like to know what will happen to my modest person."

"Eh? Well, Mister Wang Tao, it's up to you," replied Jack. He hadn't really thought of what he would do with the Chinese spy/executioner after Red Hand Pete had been properly dealt with. "You can join my crew, if you wish to do so…"

"I am quite honored by your generous proposition, Lord Captain Sparrow, but much to my extreme embarrassment I have to decline it. Since I have fulfilled the work my clan's elders have deigned to entrust me with, I am under the obligation to sail back to China and deliver them the undeniable proof of my late cousin's demise."

Jack grimaced at the powder bag Wang Tao was holding in his hand. Blood had maculated the cloth, especially at the seams. He didn't know what kind of "souvenirs" the Chinaman had picked up from Long's pulverized body during the boarding of the _Conqueror_, and he certainly wasn't going to inquire about that matter. It would be quite repugnant!

"Ahem! Yes, you are a man on a mission, no doubt about it. And I haven't been one to press-gang people into my crew, since I consider this kind of action to be the absolute perversion of piracy, which is originally based on freedom. Well, Mister Wang Tao, since you are determined to return to your homeland, feel free to go ashore as soon as we reach Tortuga's harbor. There will be ships anchored there and," added Jack with a gold-and-silver smile, "I think you will be able to hitch a ride back to China."

Wang Tao bowed to Jack in order to hide his own smile; he certainly hadn't had any trouble climbing aboard the _Seref_ unnoticed, much to Ammand's fury. So hiding in the hold of a ship planning to cross the Pacific via doubling the Cape Horn would be a piece of cake for him.

"I thank you for your understanding, Lord Captain Sparrow. Be assured your name will be praised in China as a fearless commander, an astute strategist and a resourceful man of action, who has managed to dishonor Red Hand Pete's name for centuries by sheer genius."

"Oh, let's not exaggerate!" said Jack, purring like a cat from the compliment. "Red Hand Pete was a small fish who didn't have a chance against my intellect; in fact, I could have sent him to Davy Jones' Locker with a flip of a finger, if he hadn't had my friend hostage. And for the sake of all sailors, I just couldn't let Red Hand Pete to obtain Captain Turner's powers, now, could I?"

"Indeed, Lord Captain Sparrow. Your intervention has saved Lord Captain Turner, the Soul Vessel and every seaman from a major catastrophe. Rest assured your feats will be accurately detailed to the leaders of the Red Dragon Clan, who happen to have quite an influence in our homeland. Your reputation will grow until you become the most famous European pirate captain known in the Orient."

Jack couldn't hide the twinkle of pride glowing in his obsidian-colored eyes. World-wide fame… That fitted his idea of immortality to a "T"! Millions of people across the globe would learn about the incredible Captain Jack Sparrow. There would be books translated to all kind of languages about him, thousands of images printed to perpetuate his unique personality. Actors would portray his character in plays, much to the enjoyment of large audiences yelling _"Bravo" _and_ "Encore"_, applauding like crazies at the end of each representation. The authorities' representatives would hate the ruckus created by his popularity and they would try to censor those plays, making people even more eager to see them. One smart businessman would distill rum and name it _"Captain Jack Sparrow's favorite"_, selling thousands of flagons!

The mere thought of his favorite drink made Jack snap out of his reverie, and he yelled in the direction of the longboat:

"All right, you quartet of skivers, move it! I want to reach land before sunset. On to Tortuga!"

Pintel, Ragetti, Murtogg and Mullroy pulled harder at the oars, making the longboat and the dinghy move faster. Jack glanced at the compass in his hand, and the fleur-de-lys needle was still settled in the direction of the North-West. The magnetic marvel indicated only the deepest wish of its holder's heart, and right now Captain Sparrow wanted nothing less but a whole barrel of Tortuga's best rum. That's why Jack had never been worried about getting lost in the middle of the ocean: he just had to think about a certain beverage and the compass would point to the closest location where he could find some rum.

Jack smiled, without paying any attention to Pintel and Ragetti's complains. Once he had reached Tortuga, he would A) get gloriously drunk B) pay a visit to Scarlet and Giselle C) get a ride to England to buy his ship, since he had changed his looks to rescue Will so nobody would be able to recognize him and D) sail back to the Caribbean and start a business as… _a treasure hunter_.

Yes, that was what Jack had been planning to do these past few years, because the Age of Pirates was coming to an end. The maelstrom fight had been the last-ditch battle of the Brethren Court. The vessels carrying wealth from the Americas to Europe were becoming too well-guarded; maps were getting more and more detailed, giving away the pirates' hideouts; there were also rumors of revolution in North America against the British; ideas of liberty, democracy and equality of all before the laws were taking root in the French people's mind.

All this was spelling trouble for pirates, since political uncertainty meant a reinforcement of the armies and the navy. Besides, Jack had never fancied violent action, much to the everlasting incomprehension and disdain of his esteemed peers. But his motto was: _"Why fight when you have leverage?"_ And Captain Jack Sparrow certainly had a major advantage over the common flea-infested outlaws: he was the proud owner of sagacious brains. As a man gifted with superior intelligence, he had been able to elude the various authorities' representatives who hadn't appreciated his law-breaking tendencies to gain what he wanted. He had also managed to fool backstabbing colleagues and his prudent seamanship had allowed him to avoid meteorological disasters – unlike Commodore Norrington, who had tried to chase him in spite of a hurricane near Tripoli. The poor fool!

So Jack was the perfect man to investigate the whereabouts of sunken ships, and organize diving teams to retrieve the booty lying on the ocean's floor. The Caribbean was renowned for its tempests and its reefs, and many vessels had been lost with all hands over the years. Ships carrying gold and silver from Mexico, rich passengers with fortunes stashed in heavy coffers, religious objects made of precious metal… all this was his for the taking. No armed guards under the sea to guard the lost treasures, no bothersome authorities to take the gold away from him before he could start to have fun! Just dive, swim to the wreckages, and shovel the gold as if tomorrow never existed.

"Grab everything, and give nothing back!" said Jack to himself, making Marty and Cotton look in astonishment.

But to launch his new occupations, he would have to have a fine ship – a copy of his _Black Pearl_ –, a loyal crew – with the Turners, father, son and daughter-in-law – and, above everything else, the location of the Fountain of Youth: Jack would need a lot of time to retrieve all the sunken treasures of the Caribbean, and he couldn't let old age slow him down.

Captain Sparrow feigned scratching his belly under his torn shirt, but his fingers merely felt for the leather pouch holding his rainy-day money. Oh yes, there was enough cash in it to realize his projects. At last, he would become filthy rich; he would buy his own island and the British Crown won't be able to do anything against him! Between two hunts, Jack would rest on the porch of his big beautiful house and drink rum endlessly in the company of beautiful ladies. The Turners would live in a house nearby his, raising a new generation of adventurers while the _Black Pearl II_ would be anchored in a little creek, safe from tempests and ready for another quest.

"Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me!" suddenly sang Jack. His strange crew looked at him with rounded eyes, not really understanding why their leader would start singing the famous pirates' lyrics, and then they all joined in the choruses, including Wang Tao:

"_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho_

_We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho_

_Maraud and embezzle and even high-jack_

_Drink up me hearties yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_We kindle and char, inflame and ignite_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho_

_We burn up the city, we're really a fright_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

_We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho_

_We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_We're beggars and blighters and ne'er do-well cads_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho_

_Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…"_

The late, damned and unlamented Lord Cutler Beckett had been wrong – again- about his prediction.

Pirates would never disappear; they would just have to evolve in their careers.

* * *

_In the _Dutchman_'s Great Cabin…_

Will Turner blinked, and then he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had gone to Dreamland right after Jack's departure, but he didn't know for how many hours. It had seemed only a minute ago since Bootstrap Bill had came back from the upper deck to sit by his bedside, closed Will's eyes with the palm of his hand and said: _"Sleep well, my darling."_

Exhausted by both his ordeal and his prodigious healing, Will hadn't been able to do anything but obey his father's tender order. The rest had done wonders, though: the bouts of dizziness had passed and the crippling weakness was gone from his muscles. Apart from his growling stomach, the young man felt as good as new, ready to start another round of soul-ferrying. Rays of sunshine filtered through the cabin's windows, illuminating the wooden floor in purple and gold colors. From experience, Will knew the sun would be setting soon.

He stretched under the covers of his comfortable bed and then, he heard a soft noise; raising his head from the soft pillow, Will spotted his father, sitting slouched in the armchair next to his bunk and sound asleep. The elder Turner was snoring, lost to the world but his boneless fingers were still folded around Will's wrist. Even in sleep, Bill kept vigil over his son, ever-ready to defend him from any kind of enemy.

"_Papa…"_ thought Will while feeling a warmth growing inside his chest, just under the red scar.

How could he ever thank his father for getting him out of Red Hand Pete's clutches? The young man had really thought he would die on the _Conqueror_, alone and in chains. There were no doubts in his mind that he would have talked in the end; Shiao Long's tortures had been very thorough, and many had been the times the words _"I will talk"_ had burned on Will's lips. He remembered the night when a drunken Red Hand Pete had come to the orlop deck with the cat-o'-nine tails, promising him a swift death if he confessed the location of the Dead Man's Chest. But Will had remained silent, so the _Conqueror_'s commander had threatened him with mutilation, rape, quartering and dismemberment. In the end, fed up of the young man's courage, Red Hand Pete had used the whip until Will had lost consciousness. His last thoughts had been to say farewell to Elizabeth, since he had been sure that this was the end.

But during all that time, Bootstrap Bill had relentlessly sought allies to save his son, and he had succeeded in convincing Jack to play an important part in the rescue. The elder Turner didn't have a clue about Red Hand Pete's motives, and he didn't even know which direction the brig had taken after it had attacked the _Flying Dutchman_, and yet he had never let discouragement or despair cripple him in his search. Nothing had mattered to him except finding Will, and he would have gone into the bowels of Hell for his child. Bill Turner was a hero, plain and simple; too bad he was too modest to realize it!

Will looked at his father: even relaxed in sleep, Bootstrap had some extra worry lines around the mouth and at the corners of his eyes. His long grey hair, escaping from his loose ponytail, was partially covering his stubble-covered face. Bill probably hadn't slept a wink since Will's abduction, and he must have eaten very little food; and yet he had fought like an avenging angel against Red Hand Pete's sailors and Shiao Long, showing vigor and strength that could have competed with that of a twenty-year-old.

The young Captain felt sorry for his father's state of tiredness, and for a short moment he considered waking up Bill to tell him to sleep in his bed so he would avoid getting cramps or a stiff neck. But Will dismissed quickly this idea: his father would adamantly refuse to leave and he looked too deep in slumber to be awakened, anyway.

Will sat in his bed, drew off the covers and dropped his feet on the floor. He got up and remained still for a minute, reassuring himself that he could stand without feeling any kind of dizziness. Will looked around, and saw something that made him smile: a pile of clean clothes had been folded on a chair and some food had been left on the table, as well as a shaving kit, a wash basin and a pitcher of water.

"Papa, you think of everything!" whispered Will.

He walked towards the chair and pulled on a hose, stockings, dark hard-wearing linen pants and his second pair of sea boots, and then he drew on the puffy-white shirt. Getting dressed felt marvelous for the young Turner, as it was erasing the souvenir of the sailors' mockeries after they had stripped him. Confiscating garments was a method tormentors used to inflict the maximum of pain on their victims, but also to humiliate them. Will remembered Red Hand Pete's cruel smile while looking down at his "rival", lying naked and wounded on the orlop deck's planks, at the mercy of the _Conqueror_'s commander.

Will shivered at the recollection of that memory, and then he reasoned with himself: he was back aboard the _Dutchman_, he had been saved by Jack and his father and he had nothing to fear. Red Hand Pete would never hurt him again; it was time to move on and to lead his ship. Some souls were wandering out there, begging for help and he wouldn't let his kidnapper forestall him in his mission by haunting his thoughts.

Will poured some water into the basin and he soaped his hands and face, and then he had a quick shave. When he was finished, he tied a colored sash around his waist and put on his belt, just before tying his deep green bandana around his head. His stomach's growls had increased to the point of becoming unbearable, so he calmed them by wolfing down the food left by his thoughtful father: oranges, eggs, sea biscuits, cheese and bacon, washed down by cold tea. Will had never been so ravenous in his life but, paradoxically, the more he ate and the more his stomach felt lightened.

After he had finished his meal, the young man got up and walked towards the bed. Bill Turner kept on snoring in the armchair, too exhausted by the recent events, but Will wanted to make his father more comfortable. He grabbed at one of his bed's blankets and draped it on Bootstrap's inert form, and then he took the pillow and placed it under the tired head. Bill never moved a muscle during the whole time, but the ghost of a smile appeared on his cracked lips.

Will gently kissed his father's face, and whispered: "Sleep well, my big-hearted Papa."

He stepped out of the Great Cabin and closed the door quietly behind him. Then Will climbed on the main deck, ready to take his command, meet his men and listen to distressed souls calling from across the ocean.

* * *

_Hours later, inside the _Dutchman_'s Great Cabin…_

Bootstrap Bill woke up in a snap, clutching the blanket to his chest. The room was dark, except from the moonlight pouring from the windows' glass panels. The ship was silent, except from the occasional creak coming from a beam or a plank; the _Dutchman_ was tracing its way in a slow, rocking motion, leaving behind a long line of foam on the sea's surface.

What had happened? The last thing Bill remembered was the sight of Will's beautiful face lying on a pillow, and then he had decided to seat on a nearby chair "just for a minute", until he would be sure his son would rest peacefully. Bill pushed down the beige blanket covering him, cursing himself for falling asleep while guarding his son's dreams. What in the world kind of a watchman was he?

"_Bootstrap, you are really the king of idiots!" _thought the tall man angrily_. "It wasn't the time to sleep on the job, you old fool! Haven't you learned your lesson about letting your guard down so someone could snatch away your treasure? Besides, if Will had awakened to ask for something, like a glass of water or a piece of fruit, you would have snored your head off instead of providing him with…"_

_**WILL!**_

The elder Turner got on his feet, making the pillow fall on the Great Cabin's floor, and he felt his heart jumping right in his throat before falling back inside his chest: the bunk was empty! **Will had disappeared!** Red Hand Pete had come back, and he had kidnapped his William again!

Bill felt like gagging and screaming at the same time; he looked around in a panic but after a few minutes, his heart stopped its infernal banging against his ribs: the clothes he had left for Will were gone, half of the food on the table had been eaten and the wash basin had been used. The ex-pirate glanced at the blanket still entangled on his tall frame, at the pillow lying on the wooden planks, and then he sank back down in the armchair, sighing loudly in relief.

Will wasn't gone; he had simply woken up and left his father to his rest. It was night now, and his son had washed and eaten before stepping on the _Dutchman_'s upper deck, fulfilling his duty. But he had wanted Bill to feel more comfortable while sitting in the armchair, since the elder Turner's size and bulk made moving him almost impossible. Will was such a caring, thoughtful young man. Qualities he had inherited entirely from his mother, of course!

Bill picked the pillow from the floor and put it back on the bed. Then he got up on his feet and folded the blanket before putting it on the bunk as well. Night had come, and listening to the souls of those lost at sea would be easier for Will to hear: in the nocturnal stillness, his son could "hear" a cry from miles, and Bootstrap Bill had no doubts they would soon carry ghostly passengers.

He splashed some water on his face but didn't bother to shave, and then he took a biscuit from the table and chewed on it noisily. Then the older man re-tied his hair in a ponytail as best as he could before dashing away from the Captain's quarters, still mortified for falling asleep and, even worse, for not hearing his William awakening. He was the poorest example of a First Mate the sea had ever seen since its creation. He was supposed to help his son, not to shirk his tasks!

Under the silvery glow of the moonlight, the _Flying Dutchman_ was glowing like a ship made of ivory. The men on duty were doing their chores, talking amongst themselves quietly but occasionally glancing at the young man standing at the helm, as if they wanted to be sure their commander was truly back. Will was leaning on the quarterdeck's rail, his eyes fixed on the ink-like sky. His long locks of hair were floating gently in the breeze and his eyes were shining like the sparkling stars enchanting the heavens.

Bill climbed up the stairs leading to the quarterdeck; he briefly saluted Larkins, who was behind the _Dutchman_'s wheel, and then he stood to attention before his Captain.

"Orders, Sir?"

Will detached his gaze from the sky and turned around to see the tall man right behind him, his eyes fixed on his boots.

"Did you have a good rest, Mister Turner?" asked Will.

"Begging your pardon, Captain," said Bootstrap, using the official tone the Turners employed when in front of the crewmembers, "I fell right asleep. Begging your pardon, it won't happen again."

Will could hardly believe his own eyes: his father, who had saved him from a terrible danger, was acting as if he had just committed a crime by sleeping off his exhaustion!

"Mister Turner, I deliberately let you rest. It was the least I could do, after you risked life and limb to retrieve me from Red Hand Pete's clutches."

"But I'm the _Dutchman_'s First Mate, Captain!" protested Bill. "I should have taken my post and minded the ship until you'd be fit to command us again. Instead, I slept like the great big oaf I am and…"

"Papa," said Will with a lower voice while discreetly taking his father's hand, "Please stop it. You were dead on your feet, and I would have hated myself if you had fallen ill. Any man in your stead would have slept for days after such an ordeal. I can see you are still tired, and yet you are here on deck, ready to help. Are you sure you don't want to go downstairs and rest some more?"

"I'm sure, son. Please don't make me go to my cabin," answered Bill in a whisper. "I prefer to be at my post, if you don't mind. It… It has been a terrible week and… and I'd rather stay with you, instead of lying in my bunk and wondering how you are faring upstairs."

The elder Turner looked up and saw a glorious sight: Will was smiling at him and it was the "special smile", the one his son gave only to him.

"Very well, Mister Turner!" said the young Captain aloud. "I am grateful for your presence at my side."

"It is my pleasure, Captain," answered the older man in the protocol way they used while on deck duty. "May I ask in which direction we are heading?"

A shadow passed across Will's handsome face, and his father got instantly worried again. What could be bothering the young man?

"We're heading for _Isla de Muerta_, Mister Turner."

"**WHAT? WHY?"** exclaimed the _Dutchman_'s First Mate, his blue eyes widening in shock. Isla de Muerta was now an accursed place after the _Conqueror_ had sunk under the weight of a humpback whale. Many men, including Red Hand Pete and Long, had met a terrible doom and their ghosts were probably haunting the waters near the island. And there was also the matter of the few _Conqueror_'s survivors who had stuffed their pockets with Aztec Gold: they were probably improvising a _dance macabre_ on the Island's beaches!

At Bill's loud outburst, Larkins had jumped in fright behind the wheel and several sailors turned their heads in the direction of the helm, wondering what was happening. Will raised a palm in a calming gesture and then he looked at his father straight in the eyes:

"Papa, I have to go there. The men told me _Isla de Muerta_ was where Jack and you fought Red Hand Pete and his minions, meaning… men had died at sea, and their souls must be floating on the water, desperately looking for a way to reach the Other Side."

"Well, they can wait until the Earth explodes, for all I care!" said Bootstrap Bill, gritting his teeth in a terrible effort to keep his voice low. "Those bastards… They deserve no less for kidnapping and torturing you! Never, not even on my deathbed, will I forget the wounds you have sustained. And Jack told me that some of the crewmembers actually enjoyed hearing you screaming in pain. They made you suffer more than I dare to imagine, simply because their coward of a Captain wanted immortality for his own selfish purposes. They were gutless scum, the whole bunch of them!"

"But we still have to ferry their souls, Papa," said Will gently. "And I am not saying this only because it is my duty. Whatever those sailors had done to me, they are now dead and I can't refuse to transport them because of their vile actions. Believe me, it will be very hard for me to see those men again but I cannot ignore the cries of their souls. Once they'd be aboard the _Dutchman_, I know I'll be able to… forgive them."

Bill felt his jaw hitting the deck's planks. Will wanted to grant forgiveness to his enemies?

"Oh, my Little One…"

"Papa, these men have paid the ultimate price for all the evil deeds they have done in their lives. I'd like to give them a chance to reach the Other Side; maybe they'll find redemption or maybe not. Who can say? All I know is, I want to help them reach the Netherworld, instead of letting their souls drift aimlessly on the ocean. This is something I want to do, Papa, and I need to do it. Can I count on your support?"

Bill Turner couldn't answer for a long moment; his mind was reeling with furious images, the worst ones were imagining Red Hand Pete whipping his William, his Chinese advisor torturing his son, the snickering faces of the _Conqueror_'s sailors who were enjoying the cries coming from the orlop deck and taking bets on how long the prisoner's endurance would last. His father's heart was still screaming in rage at the thought that Red Hand Pete had dared to lay a finger on his child, and Bill was convinced that all the torments of Hell wouldn't be enough to punish the _Conqueror_'s commander. If it rested entirely upon the elder Turner, he would load the _Dutchman_'s cannons and fire them at the enemies' ghosts until he'd ran out of gunpowder or munitions!

But one look at his son's dark-brown eyes made Bootstrap Bill feel ashamed: whatever torment he had suffered after the abduction, it was nothing compared to the pain Will had endured. The recovery of his body and mind had been nothing but a miracle. Any man in his shoes would have turned his back on _Isla de Muerta_ forever, vowing to never see it again. And yet, his child wanted to ferry the souls of the men from whom he had suffered beatings, tortures and starvation, because they were now dead and Will – pure-hearted Will – just couldn't let them drift on the sea for all eternity. Because his son didn't want revenge against the souls of his dead enemies, he wanted to help them.

Bill felt tears gathering in his eyes and he blinked furiously to keep them at bay. His son… His marvelous son was definitely better than him! Will was a hero, a knight, an angel in both appearance and soul. By his actions, he was giving a lesson in generosity and forgiveness to his stubborn old man and Bootstrap Bill wondered, for the millionth times, what good he had ever done in his life to deserve a son like Will.

"Please forgive my stupidity, Little One. Once again, you've proved you're a much better man than me. Deep down, I know you are right. We cannot refuse to ferry souls, even if they belonged to despicable persons – I'm just too angry to admit it. But you can count on my full support, son. I will help you ferry the souls of the _Conqueror_'s crewmembers to the Other Side."

"It may not be an easy task, Papa," whispered Will. "Some of these souls may refuse to be ferried by us – especially those of Red Hand Pete's and Long's!"

"You think they might fear we would avenge ourselves on them?" growled Bill Turner, his blue eyes hardening at the thought that someone could accuse Will of any wrongdoing.

"Aye, or maybe they could be too frightened of whatever is awaiting for them on the Other Side. We ferry souls there, but we don't know what happens to them afterwards."

Bill sighed, and then he briefly squeezed his child's fingers.

"Well, I understand you want to give them a choice, son: they can come with us and take their chance with the Other Side, or they can keep on floating on the ocean forever; but they will be free to take a decision. But you won't abandon them crying in the darkness, just like you did for me."

"Exactly, Papa."

"You are so courageous, my William; so courageous and generous. I am blessed by your presence in my life. Without you, I would have become nothing but another tar-covered corpse swinging at the end of a hangman's rope. But your love, your wisdom and your strength make you shine in the night, like a lighthouse in a tempest. You are my son, my hero and my redemption. You… are… everything… to me."

Sapphire eyes met chocolate-colored orbs, and then Bootstrap whispered very softly:

"I love you."

Will smiled, and then he stepped closer to his father. Bill, realizing what was going to happen, blurted out precipitately:

"Will… Ah, Captain… We're on deck, Captain… In front of the crew…"

But the tall man couldn't say anymore because Will hugged him with all his might. Bill instantly wrapped his arms around his son, holding the precious life close to his broad chest, and Will let a luminous smile spread on his lips. Let the crewmembers watch. Let them see their Captain had the best father of the world. Let them be the witnesses of the deep affection that existed between the Turners.

Bill pressed Will's head against his torso and the young Captain could hear his father's heart, _"the secret"_, beating beneath the neglected shirt. _Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump …_ The beautiful sound which gave Will the power to endure his duty and his separation with his adored Elizabeth, the rhythmic music of life, love and hope and one day, he would hear it inside his own chest again.

The two men ended the hug, and then Will asked:

"On the wheel, Mister Turner?"

"Aye, Captain," answered Bootstrap Bill with a wink.

He turned around and motioned to Larkins to leave his post, just before grabbing the wheel's pegs to change the direction of the rudder. After a short while, the _Flying Dutchman_ docilely inclined its sails towards the East, heading for _Isla de Muerta_ once again.

Bill checked the boom's position with the indications of the binnacle's compass, but then he felt observed: it was Larkins, who was still standing in front of him with an ironic smile on his face.

"You want to ask a question, Mister Larkins?" asked the _Dutchman_'s First Mate, slightly annoyed by the man's presence.

Larkins shook his head derisively, acting as if Bill was completely clueless and the tall man really didn't understand the sailor's attitude; finally, Larkins answered:

"Aye, Sir! 'Tis sumthink we shipmates hav' been wunderin' abbat fer years now, so if ya don't mind…"

"Ask away, Mister Larkins."

"Well, it is this: what took ya so long ta hug yur kid on deck, Mister Turner?"

THE END!


End file.
